


Truffle Butter

by pattycake17



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Romantic Comedy, larry stylinson - Freeform, not your typical fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6351079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pattycake17/pseuds/pattycake17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story where 18-year-old England's football star, Louis Tomlinson, is temporarily kicked off of London's team due to having been accused of vandalizing American property, and is forced to do a months worth of community service in New York City by helping out in a homeless shelter. But while passing out slices of bread he comes face to face with 16-year-old Harry Styles, and is instantly enraptured by his impeccable beauty despite his ragged clothing and dirty hands. Louis decides that while he's staying in the United States he will dedicate the time he is not feeding the homeless, to do everything he can to help the lovely boy. In the process of doing so, mutual feelings develop between the two that have the potential to grow into something more.</p><p>But Harry has a secret that could ruin everything.</p><p>When Louis finds out will his feelings towards Harry turn sour or will they or become increasingly more sweet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Explicit language, offensive political imagery, and Disney inspired smut.

**_I don’t fuck with you!_**

**_You little stupid ass bitch,_ **

**_I ain’t fuckin’ with you!_ **

**_You little dumb ass bitch-_ **

“Lou.”  _(Niall) *annoyed*_

**_I ain’t fuckin’ with you!_ **

**_I got a million trillion things I’d rather fuckin’ do,_**

“Louis!”  _(Niall) *very irritated*_

**_Then to be fuckin’ with-_ **

“ _LEWIS!!!_ ”  _(Niall) *outraged* **shit hits the metaphorical fan**_

Louis jumped half a foot in the air out of his seat surprised by the sudden loud, and _horrible -_ might he add - mispronunciation of his most _darling_ , royally _elegant_ , romantically _French_ , and born-to-be-a-freakin’-super(cough cough _porn_ )star, name. The violent ripping of headphones from his ears - _which fooking hurt by the way_ \- abruptly cutting off the passionate and oh _so_ inspirational words of the one - and thee _only_ \- Big Sean.

“Would yeh turn that shit down? If yeh haven’t noticed I’m trying to sleep ‘ere along with everyone else on this motherfucking plane yeh _stupid_ cunt!”

Louis looked at Niall in utter bewilderment because one, his Irishness was really showing, two, “ _that shit_ ” was rapped by a god - making what Niall said _blasphemy_ , and three, it was really weird to see his happy-go-lucky friend so angry - and at _him_ nonetheless! (Louis considered himself an angel. There was even considerable evidence written on his constantly viewed Wikipedia page, which was kept up to date by his _dearest_ fan, that he had invisible wings and a glowing halo that hovered over his heavenly ass.) The ugly scowl that was now present on Niall’s face looked quite awkward due to its lack of appearance since he was usually showing off his recently straightened teeth, displaying his famous smile that European girls fangirled _hard_ over (it was kind of disturbing if Louis was honest). The blonde’s anger scared Louis, and the icy glare of his blue eyes made him cringe in fear; afraid that he would spontaneously turn into Elsa and freeze him right there on the spot.

“Sorry mate,” Louis apologized, putting his hands up in total surrender, not wanting to be an icicle. He actually felt a little bad for sleep depriving one of his three best friends with his loud music.

 “I’ll turn my _shit_ down. Ok?” Louis reassured him, trying to calm the livid lad next to him. Well _sassily_. But that was Louis for you.

“Thanks,” Niall said with an annoyed huff. But less than a minute later he gave Louis a small smile letting his anger go, not being able to stay mad at his blue-eyed friend for very long.

Suddenly he became very serious.

Which was even more out of typical Nialler character.

 _What’s next?_ Louis thought. _He’ll announce he’s gay?_ Well, actually he wouldn’t really be surprised by that revelation. If Louis were to be totally honest with himself, he was _dying_ to bend the leprechaun over and get a taste of that delicious gold-filled rainbow-shitting ass-

“I know yeh’r mad Lou, we all are...” Niall said giving Louis an emphatic pat on the shoulder, interrupting his totally _nonsexual_ thoughts about... skittles? Yup _skittles_. He was hungry, ok? Give ‘em a break he hadn’t eaten out in a while. “...but blasting rap music isn’t gonna help yeh. Why don’t yeh sleep it off and by the time we’re in New York it’ll be better. Yeah!? We’ll be back home before yeh know it!” He grinned showing off his pearly whites; his positive words warming Louis’ heart, reminding him why Niall was his best friend.

“Yeah. I hope you’re right..” Louis said returning the smile. Despite its half-ass-ness, he really did appreciate Niall’s sincere attempt to cheer him up. And he was greatly relieved that the lad wasn’t upset anymore.

However, that did not mean that he wasn’t.

Louis was _pissed_.

No amount of Nialler sweetness could make his sour mood go away.

“Well, I’ll let cha sleep now. G’night Ni.”

“Night Lou.”

Niall then turned away from him and rested his head on the uncomfortable head-cushion of the airplane seat, closing his eyes as his body went lax with sleep.

Not even 30 seconds passed by before the dyed-blond-brown-root haired man was snoring softly in unison with Liam and Zayn, who were sitting in the two seats directly in front of them.

Louis shook his head while laughing softly. Niall was definitely one of a kind. And Louis was proud to claim him as his best friend.

Louis placed this ear buds back in his ears, and reluctantly turned down his music, still wanting to hear relatable words of Big Sean.

 _He understands_.

Louis pulled his gray beanie over his head, which had fallen off due to Niall’s aggressive attack, and snuggled into the plane seat, deciding to take Niall’s advice and sleep off his shitty mood.

Louis looked out the window of the plane trying to will the hypnotic waves of the ocean far beneath him into making him sleepy, but the angry thoughts in his mind would not _shut up_. He was supposed to be on the plane to Spain, not America, damn it! And he was supposed to have packed his bags with footie equipment for the week-long stay in Madrid, not a freaking months worth of clothing for New York City! And God, he hated that son of a bitch Nick Grimshaw. If it weren’t for his _lying_ , _scheming_ , _cheating_ ass he wouldn’t be in this lousy predicament. Louis was not a violent person, but as soon as he saw Grimshaw again he wouldn’t hesitate to put him into an early grave and request to make his funeral a national holiday.

You see Nick Grimshaw was a jealous _prick_. Louis Tomlinson was the star of London’s football team, the best in their division, and as the fans described “ _the bestest in the country_ ”. And not to boast or brag but it was a well-known fact, _Wikipedia proven_ , that he was an amazing player. His other mates, Liam, Zayn, and Niall were good as well like everyone else on the team, but Louis was arguably England’s best footie player. _Wikipedia is never wrong._ However, it was also well known that Louis was gay. He was proud of his sexuality and came out immediately to his teammates, as well as his fans, not wanting to hide anything from them. And thankfully, for the most part, he received support from everyone, including his coach, with only a mild amount of hate from rival fans of other big league teams.

But Louis could handle it.

He was a _big_ boy.

The only thing that brought him crashing down was Grimshaw. He was such a homophobic asshole! He and his stupid posse, who were made up of other cruel players, would harass Louis and his friends (mainly Liam and Zayn because they were openly gay as well since the cocksluts were _absolutely terrible_ at hiding their relationship). They would trip and kick them on the field during practice, beat them up in the locker room, and call them horrible names whenever their coach wasn’t around, not even letting up during a game.

Louis hated it. But he dealt. His love for football gave him enough courage to endure the constant tormenting. Louis did not fight back already knowing he would be kicked off the team, for it would be his word (plus Liam, Niall, and Zayn’s of course) against the rest of the team since no one else was brave enough to go against Grimshaw and his fuckboy groupies. Honestly, Louis was doing fine with his nonviolent tactics; for the only motivation he needed was to hear the screaming of the fans on game day after he scored a goal. Their love and support alone gave him the strength he needed to valiantly persevere and be forever resilient against his teammate bullies.

The _Grim_ \- Louis nicknamed him since he thought it was quite fitting - however, was determined to destroy Louis, and bring him to his knees (not literally, of course, ‘cause, again, he’s a homophobic asshole as we discussed earlier. But Louis does have this theory that he is a closeted gay and therefore is only being mean to Louis ‘cause he’s a fucking pussy. The irony makes Louis laugh every time).

 _Anyways_.. this is what the bastard did:

After London had won against America (obviously since they were victorious over all other English divisions - because they had Louis - and are therefore competing for the FIFA world cup against other countries (And no not the video game. He had mastered that a loooooong time ago. Ok maybe Niall was better but that’s _waaaay_ besides the point here..)), Grimshaw and some of his brainless followers vandalized the American team’s footie equipment. They cut holes in their jerseys, removed the bottoms of their cleats, flattened their balls, and even wrote “losers” and other hurtful names across their lockers. They even spray painted a giant mural of Uncle Sam naked on his hands and knees blowing the lovely Queen of England. His elevated tongue dripping gross saliva out of his bearded mouth like a thirsty dog.

And since the image wasn’t fucking offensive enough, the messed up graffitist just _had_ to give the old man a collar to complete his unorthodox petship. Its tag reading “UK’S BITCH” in bright humiliating red letters of hatin’ calligraphy.

Louis remembers clear as day getting the news of the crime. It happened after the practice following the American game, while the boys were getting dressed after having showered when suddenly his irate coach burst into the locker room like an angry bat outta hell and furiously threw a flimsy London tabloid at Louis’ feet. The photograph on the front cover displaying the vile vandalism in its unholy glory before all his teammates, lying on the dirty floor like a used condom.

Louis recalled wanting to vomit after he realized the sick message of the political cartoon: the American players were basically sorry ass peasants in comparison to her majesty’s. And it obviously had a British bias. So the "artist" was without a doubt _someone_ on their team.

And Louis definitely had an idea of who that _someone_ was.

Their coach, however, had _someone_ else in mind.

And that _someone_ was him.

Louis’ coach was so livid that he didn’t even speak. The madman stared down at his favorite player; his red eyes filled with so much emotion that it made Louis’ heart hurt. He saw rage, betrayal and utter disappointment swimming in the man’s oceanic irises. A man who he loved like a second father. A man who he had unintentionally let down.

Louis felt like he had been stabbed in the heart. If his life were a play written by Shakespeare, then his coach would be Rome, Grimshaw would be Bruits, and Louis would be Julius Caesar.

And since he already knew about his inevitable demise, Louis could only guess how this act was going to end:

_Tragic. As. Fuck._

With one final huff, his coach tore his eyes away from Louis and then spit on his shoe in disgust, yelling, “You’re a bloody disgrace, Tomlinson” as he angrily marched out of the room. The last thing Louis remembered, was seeing Grimshaw’s nasty grin before he lunged head first at him. Attacking the tosser who had actually done the despicable deed, _and_ who had purposely blamed it on him, in an attempt to get him kicked off the team.

Was Grimshaw fucked up, _or was Grimshaw fucked up_?

Louis couldn’t decide.

So how did the prick pull it off you might ask? _Simple_. He used video camera technology to set him up. The evil genius wore Louis’ jersey while three of his other friends wore Niall, Zayn, and Liam’s and were also dressed in masks to make it look like Louis and his mates had committed the crime instead. And, _of course_ , the guy in the Malik jersey was the graffiti artist.

Louis had to admit, it was bloody brilliant. No amount of convincing and logical reasoning could make Coach believe that he and his friends were innocent. It was hard - no _impossible_ \- to argue against actual footage. And before Louis could play the role of Sherlock Holmes (and Liam would obviously be Watson because Zayn was too lazy and Niall was too .... _Niall_ to put it nicely) to prove that Grimshaw had set them up, they were already assigned the. worst. punishment. _ever_.

Justice be damned.

Long story short Louis and the lads were suspended from playing and had to go to New York City for the remainder of the FIFA torment to help out in a fucking homeless shelter for a month. A freaking month!!! Just the thought made Louis ball his fists in anger, wanting to punch a hole in the airplane window. But he refrained from doing so, not wanting to feed the media more shit about him since they already were bashing him for the vandalism that he _reportedly_ committed.

Man oh _man_ , did he despise reporters! They were soulless bastards that only cared about getting juicy stories instead of the truth. Thankfully, however, the loyal fans knew Louis better and had his back, defending him on twitter and other social media sites claiming that he was a good person and would never do such a hateful act. Which seemed rather obvious to them, because _duh_ , he’s an angel. _Wiki guaranteed._

His friends had handled the punishment much better than him. Louis remembered Liam’s optimistic response of: “At least we weren’t kicked off the team.” And Zayn’s chill: “There’s always the next torment.” And Niall’s enthusiastic reply in a _horrible_ American accent: “It’ll be okay dude, just think about all the hawt babes yeh’ll get to fuck. And bruuuh! Thanksgiving dinner! That’s gonna be hella rad man, amirite?”

Louis _also_ remembered staring at the younger blond and deciding that he had officially lost his marbles - well if he had any to begin with. Louis swore that the only things the lad ever thought about were females and food.

And because Louis was the sassmaster (he had a black belt in the Sassy Arts), he, _of course_ , had to live up to his title by responding with: “Nialler, for _one_ it’s fucking July. And for _two_ , we are going to _New York_ , not California you dumbarse!”

But still, their combined positive attitude, which Louis believed to be fake - _like how could they honestly be a-okay with this shit? -_ did not alleviate his depression. He should be playing footie not Grimshaw! It wasn’t fair. _He_ should be showing off his fancy footwork down the field. _He_ should be feeling the wind in his feathery fringe as he ran. _He_ should be hearing the fans cheer his name damn it! _He_ should be going to Spain right now - _not motherfucking bitcharse closeted cock-sucking booty-licking Grimshaw_.

Louis looked out the small square airplane window, trying his best not to cry. His outrageous name-calling couldn’t even make him smile.

He stared at the midnight sky, staring at the bright stars in hopes that one would shoot by so he could make a single wish to go back in time and beg Coach to let him play footie in Madrid.

Louis would do _anything_ to change his ticket.

Knowing that the odds were not in his favor, he gave up his wishing and sighed sadly. The song playing on his shuffle not helping his mood either. He oohed along softly with beginning background voices allowing his mind to become one with the melancholy chorus.

**_That should be me making a goal_ **

**_That should be me not that stupid hoe_ **

**_That should be me fuck that arsehole_ **

**_That should be me.. That should be me.._ **

Louis then realized in great alarm that he was re-composing Justin Bieber lyrics on the spot to relate to his shitty life and instantly paused the song.

 _Fuck_ , he really needs to go to sleep.

He silently cursed his sister for tampering with his iPod before turning off the device and closing his eyes; welcoming the dreams that were soon to come...

~x~

“ _Oooooh_ Jack! Fuck- _yes_! Right ther- _uggghmmm_ ,” Louis groaned loudly, loving the feeling of his long slick dick pounding mercilessly in his ass, hitting that bundle of nerves buried deep inside of him. He squeezed his eyes shut as his toes curled in delight at the glorious sensation. _God_ , did he mention already that he loved this man’s thick twitching cock?

“Fuck Jack, just like that...” Louis slurred like a drunken lad intoxicated by the pirate’s amazing sex. “ _Oh, baby._ ” he moaned loudly. “Just like tha-”

 _Slap_.

Louis ass jiggled like a bowl of Jell-O.

_Tasty. As. Fuck._

“Aaarrgg...that’s _not_ meh name Louieeeeee!” Jack growled squeezing his bum harshly, spreading his legs further apart, the pain along with his relentless thrusting making the lad feel like his was going to be ripped in half. The bearded man smirked wickedly. His dreaded hair wild, resembling a lion’s mane under his black hat. The pretty beads that adorned the thick dark locks rattling against one another after every rhythmic thrust. Jack never missing a beat.

“What’s meh _name_ lassie..?” He demanded ferociously, the dominate-crazed fire in his eyes making him look like a fucking deranged animal.

“SAY MEEEH _NAME_ DAMMIT!” He roared slapping his ass again. Dick feeling him up to the bloody max.

And just like that, the pirate lost it; unable to stand Louis continuous disrespect. So as a result, he unleashed the barbarian inside of him, his thrusts no longer rhythmic and disciplined but savage and rough. His cock a metaphorical wrecking ball destroying Louis; wrecking his tight pink clenching hole.

No fucking control.

 _Finally!_ This was what he was waiting for. This was _exactly_ what Louis wanted - no _needed_ \- to hear.

That raw, powerful, _sexilicious_ anger.

He _loved_ it. He fucking _lived_ for this shit.

The beast within Jack Sparrow gave him life.

And boooooi did he feel _alive_!

“Captain! - cap’n Jack _Sparroow!_ ” Louis screamed submissively, giving the man what he wanted. Jack rewarded him by gripping his large thighs and pulling him upward with great force, giving himself more access to penetrate Louis at a much deeper angle. His delicious cock so on point, hitting his prostate repeatedly like a pro, causing the twink to see fucking stars.

“That’s right me’boy. And don’t you forget it!” Jack shouted ramming into the laddie like a raging bull, his rough lips similar to a bloody leech, leaving hot pink lovebites all over his neck, causing the curvy man to arch his back off the satin bed in the Captain’s bunk. The Black Pearl rocking dangerously in the ocean waters in sync with the pirate’s almighty dick greedily pounding into the lassie’s rich booty.

And by golly, did the cap’n love him some _treasure_.

He loved it even more than his precious rum.

“Jack! I’m gonna!- I’m _gonnnaaaa cum!_ ” Louis wailed weakly, body shivering violently with pleasure. His dick quaking like a volcano ready to explode its white-hot lava.

_Slap._

“You may fuck me, Louis, but you may never insult me.”

Uh.. Wasn’t Jack fucking him? Louis wanted to correct his stupid pirate lover but thought better of it.

He didn’t want to get punished again.

“I AM _CAPTAIN_ JACK SPAR _-_ ”

 **“Heeeey! Heeeyhhaaaayyy!”**  Called a high-pitched-ear-splitting voice from behind the door, as well as very loud knocking interrupting the captain’s dominant speech and seriously cockblocking his matey. Like wtf? How _rude_! Louis would not stand for these _despicable_ shenanigans. He wanted to cum damn it!

“Fuck off Elizabeth! You have Turner you selfish bitch!”

**“Simmer down, simmer down!”**

“-What? Jack, I can’t! That greedy two-timing slut-”

**“They say we’re too young to amount to anything else.”**

“-Well yeah I know! I don’t care that we’re pirates! Beckett can suck my dick-”

**“But look around, we work too damn hard for this just to give it up now!”**

“Yeah I know! I won’t let Barbossa get our treasure!”

**“If you don’t swim, you’ll drown.”**

“Duh, that’s why we’re on the Pearl ... Jack?”

**“Don’t move honey!”**

“Uhm... I can’t Cap’n. Your dick’s kinda up my ars-”

**“YOU LOOK SO PERFECT STANDING THERE IN MY AMERICAN APPAREL UNDERWEAR AND I’M KNOW NOW, THAT I’M SO DOWN-”**

...

Louis instantly woke up, desperately yanking his headphones out of his ears stopping the murderously loud lyrics of 5 Seconds of Summer’s “She Looks So Perfect” from continuing to blare in his sensitive ears.

“NIALL!!!” Louis screamed, turning to face an uncontrollably laughing blond sadist.

“What the in _bloody hell_ is wrong with you!” Louis asked his eyes scary balls of blue flaming rage.

“Karma’s a bitch, huh Lou!” He choked out mid-laugh, eyes watery from laughing so hard, holding his chest desperately, trying to breathe.

 _Good._ Louis hoped that his face fucking killed him. He deserved it alright.

Louis sighed and rubbed his ears dismissing his cruel friend. He looked around noticing that everyone had evacuated the plane. Him, the sadist, Liam, and Zayn were the last ones left along with an impatient looking flight attendant by the exit who was currently giving them the evil eye. He rolled his eyes back not giving a single fuck if he was being too slow for her.

He grumbled unhappily mumbling under his breath, while he got up snatching his luggage from Liam. “Goddamn leprechauns stealing your gold and hearing. What’s next? You’ll be after my future boyfriend?” The last part directed specifically to the still laughing Irishman.

Zayn chuckled at Louis’ spiteful words deciding to add his two cents in defense of his blond mate. “Your _subconscious_ boyfriend you mean? By the looks of it Lou, you were having another wet dream about Johnny Sparrow Depp?”

Louis blushed embarrassed and then tried to pass off his red face his as anger scowling fiercely at Zayn. It was too early to be thinking of smart comebacks.

“You really need to see a psychologist about that. It’s unhealthy mate.” Liam added, further backing his annoyingly _real_ boyfriend up.

Ugh couples were so infuriating! Louis rolled his eyes at them as the four of them made their way out of the plane. He didn’t need anyone to help him fend off their snarky attacks. He was fine riding solo. Great actually.

“Sure dad. As long as you take me to get ice cream afterward.” Louis said, his sarcasm as thick as Johnny’s dick. “And speaking of "unhealthy" (he said dramatically making air quotes to emphasize his point) is Niall’s obsession with 5’es’o’es.”

“I’m not obsessed, Lou!” Niall exclaimed, waving his arms wildly in defense almost knocking the flight attendant out with his luggage. “They are just really cool lads with talent. And its _5’sauce_ by the way.”

Louis just stared at him looking totally unconvinced as the four boys walked through the tunnel-like structure that connected the plane to the airport. “Whatever you say, buddy."

“I don’t know Lou, can you blame him? I mean, have you seen Ashton’s hands?” Zayn said in acknowledgment as he licked his lips in desire, the other boys nodding in agreement.

“Yeah I guess you’re right Z. And what about Luke’s lip ring! It’s so sexy. I just wanna play with it all day with my tongue.” Louis admitted longingly. Truth be told he really wanted to make out right now. His dick still semi-hard after his kinky pirate dream.

“Ugh, and can we talk about Calum’s arse?” Niall sighed. “Jesus Christ what a booty man. I-I mean beauty.” The blond said catching himself, not wanting to sound too gay.

Louis and Zayn smirked knowingly at each other. It was only a matter of time before their Nialler crossed over to the dark side.

And when he did Louis would be there waiting hungrily for him.

Ready to taste the rainbow.

“MMhhhmm and Michael’s dick...” Liam whispered dreamily interrupting Louis’ stomach mid growl. The boys had reached the end of the tunnel, now making their way toward airport security.

“What babe?” Zayn said turning around so quick that his hair whipped forwarded slapping his face, giving Liam the look of death.

“Uh-what?” Liam said coughing while scratching the back of his head innocently. He obviously hadn’t meant to let that slip. “I said his hair is _sick_. Love, are you hearing things? Do I need to take you to a specialist too?” He covered up quickly. The smooth bastard was scandalous.

“Nah I’m good. I already have an appointment scheduled to see doctor Payne tonight.” Zayn said in a disgustingly seductive tone causing Louis to cringe inwardly while walking through U.S. customs.

“Yeh mean the _luuuve_ doctor?” Niall smirked cheekily while wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at the shamelessly flirtatious couple.

“More like Doctor _Payne_ in my arse.” Louis mumbled under his breath.

“Yes he sure was after my first check up,” Zayn winked at him while giving the officials his passport to look over. “Couldn’t play footie for an entire week!”

Zayn smirked seductively at Liam causing the boy’s cheeks to turn a deep rosy crimson at the memory.

Louis’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he took off his shoes and removed unwanted metal objects from his body. He did not understand what the dark haired boy was talking about.

A moment later after he placed his belongs in the plastic box, Louis’ eyes widened horror, gasping in realization at his friend’s disgusting comment.

“Ewww! You guys are nasty.” He yelled. “Fucking cocksuckers. You two have no shame! None! That was waaaaay too much information. Thank you very much.”

“You’re very much welcome, Louis,” Zayn said in his most polite voice, patting Louis’ shoulder like the charming dick he was.

“I hate you,” Louis said venomously, shoving his tan hand off him. “Ugh! I’m scarred for life.” He cried out dramatically putting his hand over his eyes while walking through the metal detector.

All the boys laughed loudly, Liam calling him a drama queen.

“ANYWAY...” Louis said. The boys having finished with security were now heading toward the airport baggage claim to retrieve their suitcases. The honey haired boy grinned smugly at blond next to him, not having forgotten the gay comment from earlier about the fit bandmate.

“Niall... aren’t you straight?!” Louis asked his younger friend expressing much confusion about his partake in their 5sauce body appreciation conversation.

“Ya I am, but I would swing that way for ‘em.” Niall responded thoughtfully.

“But not for me???! Rude! I mean, come on! Have you seen my arse? It’s just as nice as Cal’s!” Louis whined playfully swaying his hips as they walked through the large crowds of John F. Kennedy airport.

“I’m sorry Lou, I have a thing for bandmates.”

“So if I were to become part of a boyband will you let me fuck you then?” Louis asked teasingly and slightly hopeful while waiting patiently for his large suitcase to arrive that hadn’t fit on the plane.

Niall roared with laughter as if what Louis said was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

“Yah right Louis! Like that will ever happen.” He said in-between laughs, grabbing his bags. “But if it did then... maybe? Idunno, can’t cheat on the fam, yeh know.” Niall said loudly puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. “Imma loyal fan.”

“A _loyal fan?_ Nah. You’re an arsehole!” Louis screamed at him feigning hurt. “Fuck you! My voice isn’t that bad. It’s better than yours, you wanker!”

Niall rolled his eyes at the shorter lad shaking his head. He then decided to comfort his friend by wrapping his free arm around him saying, “No, no baby it’s lovely! Yeh sing like an angel Lou-Lou.”

Damn _Wikipedia_ straight he did.

Louis hid his flattered smile at his mate’s compliment while hauling is heavy luggage from the moving assembly line, and pretended to still be mad by shoving Niall way. “Whatever. Get away from me you bloody tease. Movie stars are better anyway.”

“You mean Johnny Depp?” Liam asked smirking at him. The four boys now making their way to the main entrance to be picked up.

“Ugh, not this shit again! Will you guys let it go?” Louis begged. “Have mercy, please! I can’t help who I dream about gosh darn it!”

“Aaaargg!” Niall yelled totally ignoring Louis plead, making his hand into a fist acting like it had a hook while hobbling around on one his foot like a right idiot as if he had a wooden leg on the other.

“Oh YAS! Cap’n Niall Horan shiver meh timbers!” Zayn said to Niall deciding to join the fun by attempting to imitate Louis as if he was in the presence of a sexy pirate.

“Lemme stick meh large cannon in yeh porthole!” Niall replied back in his most seductive voice but failing miserably when he laughed at the end.

“Oh _baby_ , pillage meh booty pleeeeeease!” Zayn whimpered throwing himself in the blond captain’s arms, wiggling his bum teasingly at the man, doing his best to mock dream-Lou.

“Yo ho ho! How ‘bout aarg bottle of meh cum instead lassie?” Niall said with the deepest voice he could muster slapping Zayn’s ass loudly. Several parents glared at them, shielding the eyes of their young children from the erotic hooligans.

Louis’ annoyed façade couldn’t help but crumble at that, his irate face breaking into a wide smile. All of the boys were now laughing hysterically at their kinky antics.

Zayn continued his role-playing, skipping around Niall, singsonging sweetly, “Wreck meh deck cap’n Horan! Wreck meh deck!” The dark haired boy made childish kissy noises and continued shaking his butt, even grinding mercilessly down on Niall like the naughty little boy that he was.

“Does Daddy have to make you walk the plank baby?” Liam said sexily, his voice dominant and three octaves lower. He then angrily grabbed Zayn by his shirt collar, yanking him towards him and way from Niall’s playful grasp, pressing the dark haired boy’s bum cheeks against his harden crouch forcing him into submission, reminding his baby who _his_ real captain was.

Zayn squealed in delight, heart beating fast with arousal, loving the way Liam’s huge cock poked his clothed hole.

“Whatever floats your boat, Daddy.” He said innocently batting his eyelashes suggestively and rolling his hips, grinding down on his boyfriend filthily.

He loved jealous Liam.

“Shut up Cap’n Whoran and you two incestuous freaks!” Louis shouted finally having been made fun of enough. And also because he didn’t want security to arrest his friends for fucking in the airport.

The four boys had now arrived at the exit of J.F.K. and began to search the crowd looking for their supposedly awaiting driver.

“I’m the freak? At least I don’t fantasize about fucking movie stars thirty years older than me!” Zayn shouted making a fist at Louis. Liam reacting like the sensible proud father that he was, holding the livid lad back, cuddling him to his chest while kissing his neck trying to calm his baby boy down.

“Fuck off,” Louis said as he rolled his eyes sassily at the sweet interaction. He was seriously going to throw up cupcakes.

“You lovebirds are making me seasick.”

X


	2. 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Explicit language, New York slang, Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ inspired paparazzi, and a lot of pun n’ games!

**_One way or another, I’m gonna find ya!_ **

“The _four_ of us would really like that.” _(Liam) *sarcastic*_

“Huh?” _(Niall) *looks at stomach* **believes it just spoke to him** ***hallucinations were a common side affect of Nialler hunger***_

**_I’m gonna getcha! getcha! getcha! getcha!_ **

“ _Please do_. I don’t want to be security’s _midnight memory_.” _(Liam) *very fearful*_

“Uh...Li?...You okay man?” _(Louis) *looks at Liam like he’s insane* **thinks that his dad is actually the one in need of a psychiatrist** ***Louis’ "unhealthy" kinky pirate dreams can be dealt with later. Daddy dearest obviously needed the therapy secession more than him***_

**_One way or another, I’m gonna see ya!_ **

“I’ll let you see me naked man! Anything! Just please _take_ _me_ _home!_ ” _(Liam) *desperate/needy* **almost to the point of crying**_

“Babe _what?!?!_ ” _(Zayn) *furious* **about ready to kill this bitch who is gonna see his daddy strip** ***jealous Zayn has no chill***_

**_I’m gonna meetcha! meetcha! meetcha! meetcha!_ **

“When?!You should have met us an hour ago! At this rate we will be _up all night_ waiting for your tardy arse to pick us the _fuck up_!Jesus.” _*screams angrily to no one in particular as if he’s a psychotic schizophrenic who had just escaped from the mental hospital*_

“ _LEE-YUM!!?_ ” _(All) *Zayn: mad* **Louis: worried/alarmed** ***Niall: curious as to why Li and his tummy have the same voice***_

“ _YES??!_ ” Liam responded back angrily, after he harshly yanked out the Apple earbuds from his previously occupied ears, giving the two lads plus his boyfriend the look of death.His usually warm chocolaty eyes were now a dark nutty brown, shooting metaphorical daggers at his (as of now) _ex_ -besties. Liam chose to temporarily unfriend them due to their impoliteness, because according to his delirious brain, they had absolutely _no_ right to interrupt his therapeutic chitchat with Blondie song lyrics. The musically unorthodox conversation was a positive form of catharsis helping him let off some necessary steam.

But noo _,_ his _idiot children_ had to ruin the little progress he had made. It’s like those _twisted brats_ wanted him to lose it. However, being the epitome of Zouiall parenting had its perks (insert evil laugh here), such as having tyrannical control over the _despicable minions._ Liam decided that when the _sabotaging rascals_ were least expecting it, he would punish the _little snots_ for their rudeness. His _naughty_ _kiddies_ disrespectful malfeasance was un- _fucking_ -forgivable.

All three boys jumped back in shock at Liam’s outrageously outrageous outburst. Louis and Zayn (Niall was currently looking at his Liam-impersonating belly in starving fascination) watched in fear as all the blood in Liam’s body rushed to his face at 120 mph, causing it to turn a fast and furious pink. The two boys wished upon their lucky stars that Liam’s nose would remain that peachy color, for the reason that it was the personification of a mood ring. The degrees of rage went as follows: opal - a little upset, tourmaline - pissed off, and ruby - _fucking mental._

“ _Awe crap_ ,” they both groaned. Liam’s nose was rosier than a July birthstone.

_Red. As. Fuck._

_So_ _red_ that it could stop traffic.

 _So red_ that it could guide Santa’s sleigh while Rudolph was away on holiday.

 _So_ _red_ that it’d be the perfect album art for Sage the Gemini’s twerk-hit single.

It was _so bloody goddamn red_ that it couldeven be mistaken for one of those adorable red noses that charitable celebrities wear in music videos to help raise money for Comic Relief.

 _It was_ red _icious!_

Seeing the demented expression on his lover’s face, Zayn realized that Liam’s nose rage-detector results were true. There was no denying it. His. Daddy. Was. _Mad_.

 _Mad_ as in he fell head first down the rabbit hole.

 _Mad_ as in his eyes looked loonier than the Mad Hatter’s.

 _Mad_ as in his smirk simpered creepier than the Cheshire Cat’s.

 _So fucking bonkers_ that if Zayn didn’t play his cards right, Liam would probably start screaming, _“_ _Off with their heads!”_ in about 10 seconds.

And since Zayn most definitely did _not_ want his boyfriend to murder the entire JFK station populous, he knew that he had no choice but to intervene with cancerous narcotics - for that was the only remedy that would cure Liam’s madness.

Zayn acted quickly by taking out a cigarette from his back pocket and placing it gingerly in Liam’s hand. He then whispered “Smoke me.” into his ear, hoping that his Daddy was as gullible as Alice.

Afterward, Zayn retreated quietly back to an anxious yet patiently waiting Louis. (Niall was still preoccupied with trying to figure out why his growling tummy sounded like Liam. Had he eaten him? Oh _shit_ ,he _ate_ Liam! Z was going to _kill_ him...).

Liam’s ludicrous thoughts of vengeful punishment suddenly stopped when he saw the single fag lying temptingly in his palm. He twirled it around in his fingers contemplating hard on his next course of action.

 _To smoke or not to smoke? To discipline or not to discipline? To forgive or not to forgive? To teach his baby boy a lesson by spanking his perky little ass in public like the kinky Daddy he was, or nah?_ Those were the questions Liam asked himself.

Both lads crossed their fingers - _all ten of them_ (index with middle, ring with pinkie, and thumb with thumb (they needed all the superstitious luck they could get)) - in apprehensive anticipation, praying to Katniss that the odds were in their favor.

Liam, however, was a sensible man. So _of course_ , he made the most rational decision; he would sacrifice his disciplinary tough-love tactics in order to save his children from public humiliation. However, they would not be able to escape the inevitable lecture that was soon to come. With that in mind, Liam begrudgingly placed the cig in between his lips, lit it with his fancy flip-open lighter, and exhaled sexy smoke rings into the airport’s busy atmosphere.

The two boys rejoiced aggressively by high-fiving each other when their schizo dad instantly relaxed; the stress-relieving drug immediately taking effect on his body, soothing his tense muscles and extinguishing the raging fire in his eyes. (Their blonde friend at that moment was searching his pack for something to eat after convincing himself that he was _not_ a cannibal. He decided that the mysterious phenomenon - his Liam-talking stomach - would forever remain the 8th wonder of his hallucinogenic world.)

Louis sighed in relief after glancing wearily at the _momentarily_ chillaxed man across from him, while the Irish lad next to him cheered triumphantly after finding the flask of beer he had snuck on the plane, and began drinking it in attempt to fill the empty void in his tummy - the blonde not giving two shits that it was illegal. In Liam’s absence, the honey fringed boy gave Niall a parental “ _really?_ ” look before turning his head in Zayn’s direction, staring at the dark-headed boy with nervous eyes.

“That cig is only gonna hold OCD for so long until he boards the crazy tube again,” the eldest lad mumbled matter-of-factly.

“He’s not crazy,” Zayn said defensively giving Louis a pointed look. He hated when Louis called Liam “OCD” because he had _ingeniously_ (note the sarcasm) re-acronymized the mental illness ‘Obnoxious Controlling Dad’, which Zayn found the _least_ bit funny. His boyfriend’s self-diagnosed disorder was _not_ something to joke about.

“Sure Z, your boyfriend is _sooo_ normal,” Louis said rolling his eyes sassily. “You know because normal people talk to song lyrics in the middle of the fucking airport!” He continued on, never failing to miss an opportunity to be a smartass. “But that’s none of my business.” Louis finished, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Niall casually took another sip of beer oblivious to what his two mates were going on about.

“Oh shut up Louis.” Zayn countered, annoyed at his friend’s unnecessary spitefulness. “You know Li just can’t handle when things don’t go according to plan.”

“I know, I know,” Louis replied back, this time his voice laced with actual apologetic empathy. All three boys knew that Liam had a mild case of OCD or some kinda anxiety problem because he would freak out during disorganized situations like the one they were currently in. Their driver-person-thingamajig (Louis was unsure of their official title) should have picked them up 60 goddamn minutes ago. However, they were freaking MI-to-the-triple-A.

It also _sucked_ that the guys had absolutely _no_ freaking idea what he or she looked like! So since it was pointless for the four to search for them in an airport filled with about a zillion people, they had no choice but to wait patiently for their “tardy arse” - as Liam so nicely put it - to find them.

And at this rate, Liam was going to slaughter the boys before _they_ even showed up.

 _At least we won’t have to feed the homeless_ , Louis thought. It was the only silver lining he could find in the morbidly gray cloud that hung over his pessimistic head.

“Well, we only have a few minutes until puppy boy over there goes barking mad,” Louis said knowingly, mentally bracing himself for the bomb that was Liam to explode. When his cigarette fuse was out he was going to go off like a grenade.

“Oh cut him some slack Lou,” Zayn said, his voice sympathetic. “He’s having a ruff day.”

Both Louis and Niall looked at their dark-haired companion unamused.

“That pun was terrier-ble Zayn,” Louis deadpanned. He loved to mess with his best friend. Temperamental Zayn was rare and sadistically delightful.

“Bull shit-tzu!” Zayn shouted in outraged denial. “It was better than yours!” He would not tolerate this injustice. Where was his sensible Daddy when he needed him to defend his baby’s honor? Oh yeah, that’s right - he was in crazy-land.

Damn.

“I’dunno mate,” Niall said joining in on the lad’s "friendly" banter. “That pun was a little far fetched.”

“Yeah, you should be put in the doghouse for that pun,” Louis smirked.

“Speak for yourself Z. But Lou and I think you tail the worst puns.” Niall joked, fist pumping Louis. Teamwork was key. Their double penetration would destroy the cocksucker.

“Yeah you don’t see us howling with laughter.” Louis continued. He honestly could do this all day. Teasing Zayn was just too much fun. It was one of his many guilty pleasures.

“Oh my God! Stop hounding me with your doggone puns!” Zayn yelled finally having had enough. He was _fur_ ious.

“Good boy ZeeZee!!” Louis shouted joyfully his eyes filled with pride. “You finally made a decent pun - or puns I should say!” He petted the lad’s quiff praising him like he would his own pet, messing up the perfectly styled dark hairs (plus the few blond ones), causing Zayn to retaliate by slapping his unwanted hand away angrily. He _hated_ when people touched his hair - with the exception of LiLi and his Mummy.

After Zayn successfully ripped Louis prying paws off, the pleased twink looked to the Irish co-owner and said gleefully, “I think our Zaynieboo is officially well trained Nialler. He has reached our level of punnery. Should we give ‘em a treat as an award? He definitely earned it.” Louis winked cheekily at the canine bared mutt, who really wanted to take a nice chunk out of his master’s butt.

_Feisty. As. Fuck._

Niall turned to his friends interrupting Zayn mid-snarl, “Well lads... ‘M gonna go get some popcorn before the fe _male_ dog show starts.” He said pointing a thumb over an almost finished smoking Li, “If yeh know what I mean.” He chuckled darkly.

“Are you calling my boyfriend a-”

“Everyone please take out your cell phones and recording devices now, the puppy pageant is about to begin!” Louis shouted interrupting Zayn as Liam took the last drag of his cigarette before putting it out.

“The first contestant of our show this fine evening is a marvelous lass, who was born and raised in wonderful _Woof_ erhampton!” Louis said in his most posh British accent, using his iPhone 6+ as a mic, pretending to be a sophisticated host. Scratch that he wasn’t a just a host, he was _thee_ host. Put your hands in the air for _MC Louis_!

**“The lovely Lianne is a Cockloving Spaniel,”**

**“That has given birth to over 25 litters because she can handle -- it.”**

**"She is better trained than the finest maid,”**

**“And she is better groomed than the hottest babe.”**

**“Even though her growl should not be taken lightly,”**

**“Lianne is more loving than the goddess Aphrodite!”**

**“Give it up ladies and gentlemen for...”**

Louis stalled waiting for Niall to come back. Zayn impatiently hummed the Jeopardy song until the slower-than-a-snail blond sat down beside them, and then nodded to the unofficial announcer to continue on with his flattering int- _rap_ -duction.

**“BITCH ALMIGHTY!!!”**

Liam stepped into the imaginary spotlight; nose redder than a cherry atop a banana split.

“ _I HATE THIS SHIT!_ ” Liam screamed. All three boys shoved a handful of Niall’s popcorn eagerly into their mouths. They were sadistically excited to be entertained by the one and only Liam Payne.

“I _hate_ when things are so bloody unorganized! What happened to the so-called game plan? Coach _knows_ I have issues, and he is well aware that this crap drives me _fucking_ _mental!_ ” All the boys nodded in agreement. They could testify to this truthful allegation in court having witnessed Liam’s madness first hand.

“You think that son of a bitch would have sent us at least a _picture_ of this so called " _person_ " who is _supposed_ to be picking us up! Or at least what they are wearing! This is worse than looking for fucking Waldo in a Christmas catalog!” It took all of Louis’ self-control not to laugh. However, Niall couldn't hold it in and started coughing hysterically after choking on his Beer. _Serves him right_ , Zayn thought vengefully. The Irish cunt deserved the universe’s karma in punishment for laughing at his boyfriend.

“For all we know a crazy arse fan with an alter ego of a serial killer could claim to be our chauffeur and kidnap us and saw off our body parts one by one until we’re _dead_...” Liam raged on. “An-and then the lunatic will seal our penises in glass jars and sell them on EBay!!! I don’t know what I’ll do if some little greedy bitch is bidding for my baby boy’s dick on the internet. _And_ _oh God!_ What if they fuck themselves with it and get pregnant with his babies?!! ZAYN I WON’T LET THEM HAVE YOUR BEAUTIFUL DARK-HAIRED TANNED-SKINNED BABIES! _I WON’T!!!_ ”

Liam literally began to shake violently with anger, his whole face turning into a tomato. The four boys looked at each other in alarm. It was official. The lad had gone off the deep end. And if they didn’t act fast he was going to drown in his own insanity.

“Damn. When dad gets mad, you know it’s bad.” Louis whispered in fear. He was afraid his old man was gonna bust a vein or die of an aneurysm.

“When Daddy gets crazy, you know he needs his baby.” The Bradford boy said reassuringly to his best mates. He would fix this. Zayn Malik to the rescue.

“When Liam gets upset, you know Zanyie’s wet,” Niall joked (figuratively of course. Both him and Louis were well aware that he’s not a girl. But having known the kinky bastard for a while, they were sure that he was probably already lubed up and ready to take necessary action to calm his Daddy down if needed. The boyfriends were a very sensibly prepared couple. Zayn’s ass was a metaphorical first aid kit).

“Liam babe.. calm down,” Zayn said, cradling his berserk boyfriend in his soothing arms. “Only you can have my babies. Well actually you can’t.” Liam gave him a murderous glare. How dare his lover deny him of his natural rights? “But a surrogate can!” Zayn chuckled hesitantly, wording his next sentences carefully, not wanting to anger his lover even more. “Liam, you can father them okay? Alright babe? You can have the honor of being my baby daddy.” Liam looked slightly happier with that resolution.

After Zayn gave him a few chase lovebites on his neck, Liam calmed down for the most part, but he was still on edge. His OCD would not let up until the unorganized situation was organized. In other words, until their prick of a driver showed up.

“I mean look around, there’s like half a billion people in this godforsaken airport Zayn! How the hell are we going to find them?!!” Liam cried into his chest. “You know if you calculated the probability, you would see that our chances of finding them are about the same as me having sex with a girl!” _Oh no. Not nerd Liam_ , Zayn thought hopelessly. He was starting to feel like all his efforts were in vain.

“Aladdin! Jasmine! Jafar! Fucking LAGO! _Please_ if you’re out there, let me borrow the lamp! I promise I’ll return it! I just need the Genie’s magical assistance to find our missing picker-upper. I’ll even give you my other two wishes!” Liam was now crying, and in utter despair dropped to his knees at Zayn’s feet, as if the lad was Walt Disney’s gravestone, and continued begging complete nonsense to the deceased man.

While mentally insane Liam pleaded to the ghost of Princess Jasmine’s creator, Niall suddenly got hit in the face with a paper airplane. He stopped listening to his friend’s broken sobs and looked in the direction that the airborne childish toy came from.

Then he saw _her_.

 _Her_ as in their driver.

The Irish lad knew it was her “tardy arse” when he saw the large poster she was holding. It had a huge graphically drawn picture of Uncle Sam on it, but instead of the classic pointing-finger-demanding-for-them-to-join-the-army pose, the old man was flipping them the bird! _Yup, that’s definitely_ _her,_ Niall thought, his initial smile now a flat line, dead as can be.

“Uh, lads... I think I found her.”

The rest of boys followed the blonde’s line of vision. All four cringing at the sign in unison.

Liam gulped loudly.

“Be careful what you wish for babe...” Zayn said bitterly as they walked toward her.

But when the blond saw her close up his frown turned upside down, and his dick fucking twitched.

Their chauffeur was in her 30s and had dyed purple hair. The lilac waves cascaded beautifully down her back, rippling wildly in the air. She wore black high-top converse and a backward baseball cap, with tight skinny jeans that made her bum look slap-tastic! A large Yankee’s jersey covered her chest, that had ‘SMITH #1’ printed on the back announcing that she’s the best. Her nose, eyebrow, tongue, lips (snake bites), and ears (2 lobe and 6 helix each) were pierced, the metal not suppressing her femininity, only making her look fierce. Her smoky eyes were sharper than the bluest sea glass, and her killer candy apple lips were made for speaking sass. And just maybe with the leprechaun’s luck, later tonight she’ll use them to suck. Because - _holy shit!_  - this hawt mamma was...

_Sexy. As.Fuck._

Purple Hair (is what the boys decided to call her until they discovered the revelation that was her name) was so fine that if she weren’t old enough to be his mum _, Niall would ask her out right then and there. She was practically a retired Victoria Secret model!_

But hey... Age was just a number. Right?

_Right._

He didn’t have to act his age. Right?

_Right._

Then it’s settled, the blond decided.

_I won’t act my age!_

His plan wasbrilliant! He’ll act older. Wiser. _Grown-up!_ He’ll do _anything_ to prove his newfound maturity.

_No, I won’t act my age!_

He’ll act 75. Hell, he’ll dye his hair gray! He’ll adopt 50 kids! He’ll do _anything_ to get on her level.

 _No,_   _I’ll act the perfect age around you!_

Purple Hair took the paper plane from Niall, interrupting his silent lust fest, and then gave it to the little boy next to her. “Thanks, squirt,” she said and ruffled his hair once in gratitude, before shooing him off to his parents.

Niall wished he was the lucky little punk that got to feel her angelic touch. Ugh. It wasn’t fair. Maybe reverse psychology was key? Ya scratch his first plan. If he acted _younger_ instead of _older_ , he could probably get her attention. Maybe that would work! It was definitely worth a shot. He’s got nothing to lose. Well except for his dignity. But whatever. With great love comes great sacrifice - or however the stupid saying goes.

“Hello, ma’am,” Liam said politely to the woman. “Meh name’s Liam Payne from London’s football team and these are meh mates,” he pointed at the shortest first. “Louis Tom-”

During puppy-faced boy’s intro, Purple Hair looked off into the distance, not really paying attention to the four at all. She then rudely cut Liam off mid-sentence stating hurriedly, “Sorry kid but can ya holla at me lay-ta? Cuz right now we gotta get the fuck outta here! Them paps are finna find us if we don’t bail. Aight?”

She smacked her gum impatiently with her hands on her hips, waiting for the slow pokes to respond. Their reaction time was worse than a deer’s who was caught in the headlights.

Liam, Niall, Zayn, and Louis stood there in a daze, all of them wondering what had just come out of Purple Hair’s mouth.Was it English? Liam wanted to call international affairs and request the services of a translator. Niall wanted to call in the local Nandos and reserve the entire restaurant for their first date.

“Y’all heard what I said? Or do I have ta break it down for ya? The buggin’ paparazzi are going to be on our asses if we don’t peace the fuck out. Like _now_. I saw them at the door with their flashy cameras n’ shit just waitin’ to grill y’all. So unless you wanna get bombed I suggest when _I move_...” Purple Hair said as she began walking away.

All four boys still stood there in the middle of J.F.K.’s plaza looking at Purple Hair in flabbergasted confusion. Louis swore he just learned about five new words. Liam and Zayn were about to retrieve their phones to look them up on urbandictionary.com. And Niall was trying to stop his dick from hardening at just the thought of hearing his name being screamed out in her New Yorker accent.

However, before any of the four boys could even process her smart instructions, Purple Hair shouted at them again.

“ _YOU MOVE!_ ”

She then started walking even faster - if it was humanly possible - toward the back exit of the airport. 

 _Maybe she is grown up version of Lava Girl?_  Niall thought, as they all began chasing after her.

And if his kinky dream came true, he’d soonbe her _Shark Boy_.

“‘Murica must really hate y’all ‘cause they didn’t give ya celebs any security. It’s like they just threw ya in a snake pit with no way to escape,” she said shaking her head. “Damn let me tell ya, there’s no shame to their game. Fucking dicks. But I don’t get why I have to get dragged into this shit with ya. It ain’t my problem! You’d think they’d leave me be! But naah they wack n’ got me hustlin’ around after yo rich asses - got me in the middle of yur international beef. Like Imma BigMac patty in between yur dough filled buns.” Dairy Queen shouted at them as she ran, her hair a raspberry blizzard behind her.

“But I ain’t no anaconda.”

Purple Hair realized that she was talking to herself when she noticed that the boys are lagging behind. “C’mon ya slow pokes let’s go! Faster!” She yelled and then decided to provoke them into speeding up. “I thought ya guys were the reppin’ players on that soccer team of yurs? Thought y’all were ballers eh??! Yet right now y’all are dilly-dallying like the old ladies who walk with their twenty cats in Central Park every mornin’.”

After being compared to cat ladies they boys began to move quicker. This woman was meaner than Coach!

Purple Hair then ran into a crowd of people, leaving their sight for a few scary seconds before Liam spotted her lilac lioness mane in the thick masses.

“C’mon! C’mon!”

“We’re losing her!” Liam shouted. He would not be stranded in the middle of the airport again. His OCD brain would not be able to handle it.

Louis being the slowest, all the weight of his bags dragging him down, was holding the four lads back. So Liam, being the sensible dad he was, grabbed the eldest’s luggage and carried it for him, allowing the twink to move faster.

But he was _still_ too slow.

“Louis! Hurry your little legs up! I don’t wanna lose her because we can’t find your short arse in the crowd.”

Louis rolled his eyes annoyed that Liam seemed to care about keeping up with their sexy driver more than making sure that his precious son didn’t fall behind. His dad deserved to be slapped.

“God dammit!” Purple Hair cried angrily after she stopped abruptly at the back exit of the airport, her eyes widening in the utmost horror.

“This time get _ready to run!_ ” She shouted before shooting off through the double doors and into the awaiting mob of flashing lights.

The boys followed after her but immediately regretted their rash decision. The paparazzi _exploded_ on them. It was like unleashing a herd of deranged cattle across the parking lot. They were stampeding faster than Lightning McQueen, shouting their names and mercilessly grabbing at Louis’ ass, desperately trying to get the attention of the famous footballer.

“YO! YO! LEWIS!”

“LEWIS TOMATOSON!”

A high-pitched, ear-splitting, name-annihilating voice called after him.

 _This bitch_ , Louis thought beyond irritated. He _hated_ when people _purposely_ fucked up his award-winning _title_. Yes, it was more than just a name. The words ‘Louis Tomlinson’ were divine and deserved to be worshiped. Daily.

“HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE KICKED OUT OF THE WORLD CUP?”

She egged him on.

“HOW DOES IT FEEL KNOWING THAT FOR THE NEXT MONTH THE ONLY THING YOU’LL GET TO BE PASSING IS BREAD OUT TO THE HOMELESS?”

She laughed satanically like a nasty hyena.

“HOW DOES IT FEEL KNOWING THAT GRIMSHAW WILL SCORE ALL THE GOALS IN SPAIN, WHILE THE ONLY THING YOU’LL SCORE IS A DATE WITH A DISEASE INFESTED BUM?”

She wiggled her off-point eyebrows suggestively at him, her maliciously gay homeless pun sadly not going amiss by Louis’ ears.

The deceivingly innocent-looking feather-haired boy saw red. His usually smiling face baring teeth, wanting to rip the lady’s boobs off and shove up her _shit infested ass._  And then choke that homophobic witch while screaming, _“How you like them titties, bitch!”_

Zayn grabbed the outraged little firecracker by the back of his shirt, pulling him along before he could go off on her.

“NO Z!” Louis screamed. “Lemme at ‘em! LEMME AT ‘EM!” He threw air punches at the sorry excuse for a human being, hoping that the force of his rage could still be felt. Her ugly face deserved to feel his fists of fury!

As Zayn successfully dragged Louis away, the paparazzi shamelessly continued to snap pictures of them, while they chased the five to their car.

“It’s the pink jeep up ahead!” Purple hair shouted. All the boys were secretly glad they listened to her and regretted not taking her wise advice to run seriously.

As soon as they all got to the hot pink ride, Liam, Zayn, Niall, and Purple Hair grabbed on to the above ceiling bar and used it to jump over the doors and hop into their seats. Louis being too short used the car door.

As Purple Hair retrieved her keys out of her purse, Liam punched a pap that was trying to stop them from leaving. Zayn helped out by spitting in their faces and Louis scratched one that was yanking on his fringe. It was all out war.

“GO! GO! GO!” Niall screamed. “One is about ta climb inside!” The pap put hands around the blonde’s neck, choking him as she tried to on pull herself up. The ravenous reporter was about to bite his neck in an attempt to pry the Irish’s paws off her when the car suddenly came to life.

_Broom! Broom!_

“Get out me car!” Purple Hair sang gleefully as she shifted the Jeep into drive, the acceleration causing the pap to fly off.

Gone with the wind.

Purple Hair was driving so fast out of the airport parking lot exit, that she didn’t have enough time to break before she hit a pap standing in the middle of the road. All the boys flinched when they heard the loud crunch of his legs being run the fuck over.

“You hit him!” Louis cried out astonished, gazing back at the crushed reporter in horror, his immovable legs were bent at an odd angle. “Man look at him! He’s _wrecked!_ ”

“Oh well. Asshole had it coming,” Purple Hair said, indifferent.

Louis bit his lip trying to hold back a smirk at the accidental pun. The unintentional ones were always the best.

“Jesus Christ! What is this?! The Purge or some shit?” Zayn cried out, overwhelmed by the publicity attack.

“More like a zombie apocalypse!” Niall countered. “I mean did yeh see that one that almost bit me?! She was going to eat me brain!”

“Tell me about.” Louis groaned, the memory of that rude ass bitch in still mind. “Those bloodsuckers are worse than the Volturi.”

“Really mate Twilight?” Zayn said incredulously. “Lou you really gotta stop reading Lottie’s books. What if you start referencing 50 Shades of G-”

The dark-haired lad was cut off by a sudden bright flash of light and the unmistakable clicking sound of a camera.

“THERE’S ONE OF THE ROOF!” Liam shouted alerting his fellow passengers of the sudden rise in danger.

Purple Hair braked hard once informed of the above threat. The woman flew off the car landing directly in a food stand.

“Good Heavens!” Purple Hair shrieked.

“Bloody Hell!” Louis yelled.

“Blimey!” Liam shouted.

“Holy shit!” Zayn screamed (like a little girl - Liam found it cute though).

“¥?#£@&$%!” An Irish accent cursed.

“NIALLER!” All the boys censored together.

“You can’t be saying that kinda rubbish in front of a lady, you git!” Liam scolded him harshly, disciplining his child by slapping him upside the head. He was in full out parenting mode.

“Sorry Li...” The blonde baby said hiding his head shamefully in his father’s lap. He hated getting yelled at.

“It’s alright love. Just don’t do it again.” Liam whispered sweetly in his ear.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Zayn smiled fondly and stroked their son’s bleached hair loving. He was just so fucking adorable Zayn wanted to cuddle him to death.

Purple Hair raised an eyebrow after witnessing their odd behavior in the review mirror.

“Are they always like that...?” She wondered aloud.

“Yes,” Louis replied back honestly. Zaniam was real.

“Should I be worried?” She asked, truly concerned.

“Most definitely.”

X


	3. 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Explicit language, mild racism, animalism, and anti-republicanism, plus many pining rhymes ending with a very Larry paradigm.

**_In New York!_ **

“Anyway boys, sorry ‘bout havin’ ta roll up outta there as if da po-po were chasin’ us–” _(Purple Hair)_ _*apologetic*_

**_Concrete jungle where dreams are made of,_ **

“But we had ta bounce ‘cause them gorillas ain’t no joke! Goin’ _apeshit_ every time they see fresh meat–” _(Purple Hair)_ _*pinches Louis’ butt cheek*_

**_There’s nothing you can’t do,_ **

“But those nosy monkeys _should know_ _betta_ then ta go bananas ‘round _me_ –” _(Purple Hair)_ _*dark/threatening*_

**_Now you’re in New York!_ **

“I’ll fuckin’ peel their primate asses _real quick_ off diz car before they can even snap a pic. They’ll end up lookin’ like McRatchet Cheese Burger ova there–” _(Purple Hair)_ _*glances back at the demolished pap who crash landed into the food stand*_

**_These streets will make you feel brand new,_ **

“’Cause honey, _I ain’t da one_. I. Really. Ain’t. _I’ll run a bitch ova_. Those mothafuckin’ _orangutans_ – betta – learn – ta – _day!_ ” _(Purple Hair)_ _*takes one hand off the steering wheel to snap in a zigzag like the ghetto ass bitch that she is*_

**_Big lights will inspire you,_ **

“But on da flip side, welcome ta–” _(Purple Hair)_ _*brightly*_

**_Let’s hear it for New York!_ **

_“NEW YAWK! NEW YAWK!”_

Purple Hair exclaimed loudly. Afterward, she turned down the volume of the car radio, no longer in need of Alicia Keys and her musical authenticity, now that she was finished with her fervently candid, and unnervingly vulgar, welcoming. Then she continued to cruise quietly down the busy and bustling street of 7th Avenue, her pristine white teeth cheesin’ happily at the soccer jocks in the review mirror.

The lilac blond loved showing off the Big Apple to first timers because she found it amusing to watch someone lose their "NYC virginity." In her opinion, the newbies tended to display adorable animal-like behavior. The moment sightseers spot the famous kaleidoscopic sphere (also known as the "dropped ball" on New Years Day), their eyes widen like mischievous kittens, who have discovered the yarn of someone’s knitting. And when the wonderstruck tourists see the public manic running rampant, their feet freeze upon sight, like deer caught in the headlights.

But Purple Hair couldn’t judge their cute fauna stupefaction, for she understood. Like every other born n’ raised New Yorker, she knew that her hometown was the epitome of tourism and awesomeness.

As the lavender-headed lady continued to make her way down the yellow-cab speckled street, the beautifully mixed Pakistani and Brit stuck his head out the automobile, to get a better view of the hectic metropolis.

Purple Hair shook her head; the municipal spell had already taken effect. Soon the voyaging boys would adopt beastly demeanors, and turn into animalistic rubbernecks, whose poor porker faces portrayed that they were not playing with a full deck.

“Wow! I can’t believe we’re in Times Square!” Zayn said in awe, looking at the colorful twinkling lights and flashy advertisement signs, that now surrounded them on all sides.

But then, the windswept lad, too mesmerized by the city’s magical energy, suddenly forgot to maintain a firm grip on the moving vehicle, resulting in his arms to go surging into the urban air.

Liam dived heroically in front of a besotted Niall, his ginormous paws taking hold of Zayn's lanky waist, just in time to save the tattoo-spotted giraffe from tumbling neck first out the window. The honey-eyed grizzly sighed in relief when his vegan mate’s tizzy was obsolete. He could not bear the thought of his cherished Zee being road kill on the street.

Once puppy boy reeled in his precious guppy, he continued to gaze at the captivating place. He had been to London many times, but there was just something different about America. Everything here was elephantine, enormous, and extensive, especially the edifices.

 _And then he saw it._ The one that trumped them all; the historical man-made achievement that rivaled the Tower of Babble.

“Zayniepie look!” Liam said while wagging an ecstatic finger in the air outside the topless Jeep. The appendage resembled the tail of an excited dog. It was pointing at a tall skyscraper, whose sharp seething tower was foiling a calmly collected cloud. “That’s the Empire State Building!”

Too overwhelmed by everything, Zayn’s mouth could only open and close dumbly, like a fish out of water.

“Oh my God,” Louis neighed delightedly like a happy horse, rudely interrupting Liam’s architectural fangirling. “I’ve never seen so many fast food places in me life!” Blared the front-seated golden-haired mare, who was currently trying to stop himself from drooling all over the dashboard, his mouth watering, wanting nothing more than to devour the entire scene in front of him, his starved stomach rumbling in agreement.

“Wow,” the yellow-tailed fox whimpered weakly in famished concurrence, stunned into silence after having seen the holy site. Lo and behold _Delicantis_ , the delectable foodtopia of Niall’s dreams! And the only place he wanted to get lost in beside Purple Hair’s physical regime.

But just thinking about her regal body was causing the sexually-deprived canine to lose his quickly fermenting mind. The beast’s carnal thirst could only be satisfied after he drank every drop of the beauty’s cherry wine, that he hoped was still sealed inside the decanter between her soft vanilla thighs.

Just one _taste_ and the Irish jackal would be _shitfaced_.

The sweet _buzz_ would make Niall forever _drunk in love_.  

When Times Square finally came to an end, Purple Hair swerved the rosy Jeep right, leaving the celebrated avenue behind. The roads that she was now traveling on were located in the commercial part of Manhattan. They were just as crowded, but for business related reasons. Everyone in New York was always on the run, either having some place be or some place to flee.

Now that she was chauffeuring them on the less glamorous side of town, the zoological voodoo had finally worn off, causing the foreigners to retain ordinary decorum.

However, the faux blond and the lightest brunette still possessed some lingering effects. Niall was travestying a thirsty turkey, wanting nothing more than to gobble Purple Hair up, and Louis was imitating a hungry hippo, licking his chops while he watched the marketed meals that were magnified on billboards, pass them by.

Louis slumped against the pink cushions. He was _very_ overwhelmed. After they had weaved through several blocks, he got to view all the yummy shops. The ravenous lad had noted that McDonald’s, Burger King, Chipotle, Sbarro, Taco Bell, Subway, KFC, and Wendy’s were all within walking distance of each other. And they had also passed by many franchises that he didn’t recognize. It was crazy! Seeing so many take-out restaurants in the same place reminded him of the huge food court in the London shopping center, but only bigger, and better, and _outside_.

Why couldn’t his back-seated father freaking realize that this was the kind of architecture that should be appreciated? Strategically-built, labyrinthine-designed, fan- _fast food_ -tasticly-crafted _architecture_ – not all those famous buildings, grand churches, and fanzy-smanzy plazas. _No_ , these cheap fatty joints, that held America’s legacy in their mal-nutritious recipes, should be outright obsessed over – and in Louis’ opinion, _fooking worshiped_. The divine outlet was the _splend_ agogue of his religion; the Mecca to his _healthful_ Hajj; the fruits of his _Hungry_ Spirit.

Louis licked his lips. He could even smell the hot greasy food from the car, his tummy growling loudly in shameless desire. And _damn_ he’d do just about _anything_ to be able to fine dine in its _tasty_ ecstasy.

Similar to Eve and Snow White, Louis craved a bite out of the Big Apple. But different from the deceived ladies, _just one taste_ would trigger the footie prima donna to reach sweet Nirvana. _Just one chew_ would make his whole world brand new.

Louis’ beguiled eyes shown with peckish mirth.

 _New York was the Garden of_ Eat _en; New York was heaven on Earth._

The starved blond would wholesomely agree with Louis, but he envisioned his heavenly feast a little differently:

_Niall would take the woman behind the wheel to a lavish hotel. He’d lead her to the bedroom, and lay her down gently, peeling off her clothes nice and slow, as if unwrapping a saccharine candy. Then he’d spread her legs wide, eating her out until she cried. His moist tongue would lap at her syrupy insides, sampling her matured nectar like an insatiable butterfly. As the aphrodisiac precipitation poured out of her petal-rimmed slit, Niall would greedily devour it. And then his intoxicated eyes would flutter closed, tasting the honey-dew on her pudendal rose. Niall’s cheeks would turn pink while he savored the fruity flavor; the delicious gush giving him an indescribable sugar rush._

“Mmm,” his salivating mouth hummed aloud.

_Juicy. As. Fuck._

The horny monarch was unexpectedly taken away his imaginative reign when Purple Hair ran over a pothole. Niall shook his head to clear it of her flowery clit, but it was already too late. He had blossomed a boner.

And it served him right.

The sex-crazed eighteen-year-old shouldn’t even be having these kinds of fantasies. They were _way_ too advanced for their nonexistent relationship. He and Purple Hair weren’t even at first base, and they didn’t even know each other’s names! Therefore, Niall had a _long way to go_ until they reached home plate.

But the blond was worried. What if he struck out before even getting a chance to win her heart? He couldn’t afford to be ballsy. If Niall wanted them to hit it off, then he needs to be patient, and he needs to be smart. After thinking a bit, he decided to ask her out on a date, hoping the non-suggestive invite would be safe.

_However, what the ignorant soul didn’t know, was that his beloved queen batted for the opposite team._

“Where’s the Nandos at?” Niall asked. He needed to know ASAP. The buoyant boy was going to make the most romantic reservation in the history of courtship, by renting the entire restaurant quarters for twenty-four hours, so that he and Purple Hair could spend quality time alone together, at what Niall considered to be _the best place in the universe_ , on their first date.

It was going to be perfect. Niall could already see it; his lovesick imagination running wild with different scenarios:

 _He would sit in her lap while she fed him with a spoon, like the loving MILF that she was, sending him over the moon. Purple Hair would stuff a napkin bib in his shirt, so that he wouldn’t get food on his clothes when he opened his mouth to flirt. But not even five minutes later, mami Purple Hair would be spanking his scrumptious bum, for being such a_ filthy _boy, because he was completely covered in crumbs. But during his scolding, Niall would only feign guilt, for he absolutely loved to be punished, especially over mash that he spilt._

“Nan-who?” Purple Hair asked incredulous, almost crashing the Jeep into a taxi, annihilating his delicious fantasy. “Is that some kinda Irish slang for a Grandma prostitute? ‘Cause we ain’t got those on our streets in diz country, ya perverted foreign-lovin’ cougar.”

Her hypercritical words caused the roasted sinner to turn redder than his aching member. They also brought him back to reality, where the situation was less erotic and more catastrophic.

Niall sat shamefaced in the middle seat, his bad baby blues cast downward in lightweight remorse because her disturbing accusation wasn’t too far from the truth. Even though Purple Hair wasn’t old enough to be a nan, the blond was still pining over a senescent babe, who was twice adolescent’s age.

 _Titty fuck meh with a bucket of chicken and side of chips_ , Niall cursed in pure panic. _She’s on to meh..._

Louis had to hold in his laughter and look out the window to hide his devilish smirk, the satanic man enjoying the fact that the blond idiot ruined any chance that he might have had to impregnate the lilac beauty with his leprechaun babies. _Tough luck you Irish cunt_ , he chuckled to himself darkly.

Liam, being the heroic dad that he was, came to his son’s rescue. “Miss, Nandos is a chicken restaurant in the U.K.” He explained.

“Right,” the older woman said sarcastically, not believing the puppy-faced lad for a millisecond. “And lemme guess,” she mused sardonically, “He always orders da breasts, huh?”

The Irish elf turned even redder, if possible, at the accurate assumption. His cute little ears shone more vermillion than his Daddy’s rosy nose during his airport freak-show.

Louis, realizing Niall had suffered enough from the heartbreaking disease of "my crush doesn’t like me back," decided to pull some empathy outta his big, albeit sympathetic, ass. He tried to save his friend from further humiliation, and postpone her inevitable rejection, which would be followed by Ni’s unsatisfying wank tonight, by changing the conversation. “Where’s the Statue of Liberty? I want to see it!”

Purple Hair rolled her eyes, annoyed that this cutie patootie was like all other typical tourists. _Ugh_. She had hypothesized that he had had so much potential. _Sigh_. So to answer his lame question, she responded in a disinterested tone. “On an island out there somewhere,” she said and then pointed in a vague direction.

Louis huffed in disappointment at the lack of a decent answer from his suppose-to-be "tour guide." _Like wtf?_ _This is New York City dammit!_ He wanted to see it all – from the nasty sidewalk-scrap eating pigeons to the turquoise lady of freedom. _This is such a rip off! How can Nialler even like this two-bit –_

“You can see it lay-ta,” Purple Hair said, interrupting Louis’ insulting conscious. “We’ve got shit ta do.”

She drove off like a bat outta hell, honking at every rude driver that tried to cut her off, and bumper kissing the large American cars in front of them, until she suddenly pulled down a dirty homeless-infested alley, which the boys came to find out, was a shortcut to a large Catholic church that read _St. Simon’s Cathedral_ under a gigantic cross.

As they sped by, the four marveled at the ancient-crafted stain-glass windows, that told the mosaic story of Jesus and his twelve disciples. When Purple Hair passed the palace of worship, she swerved into the back parking lot, driving until she entered an empty slot next to a hot pink Convertible Mustang, and then cut the roaring engine off at last.

Purple Hair unlocked the Jeep for Louis – she and the rest of the boys just hopped out of the car, due to their luxury of having taller-than-pocket-sized height. Once they were all standing awkwardly silent on the asphalt in a puzzled semicircle around her, the violet mop-headed goddess spoke, ready to make her ominously Fergalicious decree.

“So listen up y’all, ‘cause diz is it. I’m about to tell y’all what’s up real quick.” At these words, the three brunettes gave her their undivided attention, while the blond, too dumbstruck by her sexy body to even remember his own name much less listen to her informational words, stared dumbly at her slim curvy waist.

Satisfied with three-fourths of their adequate observation, she decided to continue. “My name is Perrie, but y’all can call me Pez,” She introduced warmly. “How-eva,” Her voice suddenly turned cold, her odious tone making the boys shiver down to their bones. “If y’all refer ta me as that cross-eyed, box-shaped, flat-tailed, web-footed _platypus_ ,” she described menacingly, “I will kick y’all’s _mothafuckin’_ asses.”

Purple Hair glared at Liam, Louis, and Zayn, eyes sharp and dark, her irises pointy icicles piercing their hearts.

“I fuckin’ dare ya,” she challenged. “Mention that blue rodent’s stupid name, or mimic its retarded bark within twenty feet of me,” she seethed, “And I swear to _God_ , I’ll beat yur British butts _so_ _bad_ , that y’all be wishin’ that you was back in England, sippin’ tea with Nanny McPhee.”

Then she angled her body toward the bleach-haired youth, who had clear saliva dripping from his mouth. “What are ya lookin’ at drool boy? Do ya wanna hear da Irish version? Or you good?”

Before Niall could reply with something unintelligent and masochistic, his dad swooped in to save him yet again.

“Well actually he’s more turquoise than blue, don’t you think?” Liam corrected Perrie wisely, ignoring the rest of her speech entirely in an attempt to steer the conversation away from his entranced friend. The sympathetic man found it quite tragic when _lust at first sight_ was only one sided.

“Yeah, he’s definitely more like a deep shade of aquamarine,” Zayn agreed, adding his professional opinion. He was the artist of the group. If anyone knew the precise color of the cartoon animal, it would be him.

“Brilliant word choice Zayn! Since, you know, platypuses are semiaquatic mammals.” Liam praised lovingly, very impressed with his boyfriend’s intelligent commentary.

“Isn’t the plural of platypus, platypi though?” Zayn asked, curious.

“No, it’s platypodes, since it’s Greek,” Louis responded sassily with an eye roll. The lovers were clueless. Thank goddess Athena that he was here to educate their dumbasses.

“Word nerd–” Zayn muttered bitterly under his breath before he was abruptly cut off by the violent clearing of someone’s throat. The three boys slowly turned their head’s in the direction of the attention-seeking sound and were meet with a fist-clenched, red-faced, nostril-flaring Perrie.

Liam, Zayn, and Louis gulped in unison, and then looked down to the ground in fear of being chastised, or more realistically, castrated.

“If y’all are finished discussin’ da color and plurality of that _blue_ platypussy, I would like ta continua,” Perrie interjected, annoyed.

Not even giving them a second to process her words, she proceeded without their permission. Perrie Edwards waited for no one.

“I’m da direct-a of diz homeless shelt-a, which is funded and operated by da church we just passed,” she said while flicking a perfectly manicured hand in the direction of _St. Simon’s_ , and then went on. “As y’all have probably guessed, I’m ya boss for da next month.”

Perrie stated the information indifferently, much to the boys’ surprise. This caused the three footie players to sigh in relief, having realized that she would not be a totalitarian ruler, nor abuse her sovereign power by making them scrub filthy floors with only their toothbrushes.

The blond baby, however, was slightly disappointed. He wouldn’t mind cleaning toilets or peeling one hundred potatoes for her, especially if he could reap some potential benefits that came with his hard work – like a break-time shag or a free meal. Or wait – _even better!_ What if she offered him a free meal _during_ break-time? Niall could see it now:

_Perrie would call him into her office at a quarter past noon. The perspiring blond would walk in wearing his cleaning uniform: yellow gloves on his hands and a frilly apron tied around his waist._

_The summoned man would stand courteously, waiting patiently for the full figured woman to give him some much-needed attention, whether that be being reprimanded or ravished, it didn’t matter. He just wanted to be_ noticed _._

_Then suddenly, with a saucy grin on her lips, the classy lady would stop her furious typing and twist the black swivel chair to the left._

_Sensually batting her eyelashes, Mrs. Perrie would beckon him forward with her French-tipped finger._

_Once he was at the edge of her mahogany desk, his sexy superior would scoot back and uncross her long legs, revealing her soft coral hole that was hidden beneath her fleshy folds._

_Next, pantie-less Perrie would open a drawer and retrieve a stashed can of whip cream. She would smirk at Niall, her blue salacious eyes locking with his, completely transfixed, as she aimed the canister down at her glistening entrance, and sprayed a generous amount on her dripping clitoris._

_“Lunch, big boy?” She would ask the riveted custodian._

_He would hesitate, not knowing what to say when his integrity was at stake._

_“It’s on me, sweet cheeks,” she’d murmur pornographically, tempting him on with a wink._

_Finally, he’d cede, shouting “Yaaaaa_ _buddy!” as he dropped to his knees; at the mercy of her palatable pussy._

_Perrie would laugh at his eagerness, and then softly cup the back of his head with her gentle palm. She would run encouraging fingers through his vanilla quiff, and whisk soothing nails in his chocolate roots, slowly bringing him closer and closer to her succulent mousse._

_“Dessert before the main course, m’lady?” Niall would tease playfully, licking a fat stripe of the creamy delight._

_“Oui, venez ici. Bon appétit, cheri.” She’d whisper in his ear coquettishly, pulling the Irish beast toward her fancy feast._

Niall had to hold back a groan, wanting to kitten lick all her fantasized bits.

Disregarding his amour’s unrealistic French linguistics, the blond bonbon liked the idea of having secret rendezvous with his authoritative boo.

That being said – or in this case _imagined_ – "Boss Perrie" didn’t sound so terrible. The dominant relationship actually sounded rather _wonderful_ to a submissive Nialler.

But back in the real world – out of Niall’s fictional and _grey_ scaled one – purple-haired Pez was currently giving them a verbal tour of their new whereabouts.

“That buildin’ ova there,” she pointed to a tall five-story concrete construction, “is da hostel, where da homeless stay ova night. And that buildin’ ova there,” she pointed to the large community center adjacent to the sleeping shelter, “Is da cafeteria slash kitchen where they eat – where we serve ‘em three meals a day. And lastly, that buildin’ ova there,” she turned toward the third structure that was a hybrid between a hotel and a frat house, “Is da sleepin’ courtiers for da long-term volunteers. So that's where y’all will be stayin’.”

The four athletes, who were used to living in affluent apartments, had to hold back their aversion for their current residence. _Oh well_ , there was nothing they could do about it. The wealthy boys sighed. They would just have to embrace the outdated place.

Perrie had to hold in her satirical laughter at their grim facial expressions. This thirty-one-day experience was definitely going to be humbling for them.

“Right. So now I’m gonna show y’all yur rooms. Afterward, I’ll give y’all a tour, and tell y’all yur duties.” The director announced. Then Perrie led the way toward their temporary home, the boys following her like depressed ducklings waddling to their doom.

“So y’all are boyfriends, amirite?” Perrie questioned knowingly, nodding her lavender head at Zayn and Liam.

“Is it that obvious?” The black haired boy wondered aloud, slightly skeptical. _Were him and Liam that couply?_

“Yes.” She assured, rolling her eyes. “But I did do my research.” She finished, chuckling at the lovers, a combination of horror and disbelief etched on their features.

When the five finally approached the shabby in-desperate-need-of-a-paint-job building, Perrie pulled open the old double doors located on the bottom floor of the huge three-story structure. She walked passed the vintage reception center and stopped in front of the staircase, that led to the inadequately furnished living courters.

“Okay,” Pez said, clapping her hands to get their attention once again – Niall however, was still trapped in an enamored daze, which Liam prayed would soon fade. “Room distribution time!”

“Since I don’t wanna have ta worry about y’all sneakin’ in each other's rooms at night,” She pointed at the same-sex partners already knowing that it was stupid to try to prolong the evitable, “I decided to let y’all share. So here.” Perrie handed them each a rusty key, that had the number twenty-two engraved on its silver surface.

“But if I get one noise complaint about y’all bein’ too loud – and y’all know exactly what I’m talkin’ about – I’m separatin’ you sluts.”

Liam and Zayn’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink at her reference to their naughty business. Not even Coach was this blunt when condemning their shameless shenanigans that took place in the locker room before and after a game.

Perrie glanced at Niall next, almost making the infatuated fellow cum in his pants.

“’Cause you’re da only straight one, you’ll be roomin’ with two otha _male_ volunteers ta discourage ya from bringin’ females into yur room.” She stated wisely. Louis had to hand it to Perrie. She wasn’t a purple-bleached bimbo.

“I gotta keep them nice " _nandos_ " livin’ at da nursin’ home across da street _safe and sound_.” She proclaimed protectively, giving the speechless freak a key marked twenty-three.

“And you.” She smiled at Lou. Despite his disappointing desire to fire clichéd questions at her concerning New York and its tourist attractions, the handsome lad was definitely her favorite by far. “I’ve heard you’re gay and single, is that correct?” She asked, deciding to get a little revenge by interrogating him with her own idiotic question.

Louis nodded his head in affirmation. He had to refrain from rolling his beautiful blues. Everyone and their grandma knew _that_ was true.

“Okay then. So ta discourage ya from minglin’ with any guys, you get a room ta yourself.” Their lilac-headdressed chief reasoned intelligently while inserting an identical key into his tiny hand, a twenty-four carved into its flat metal exterior.

“We gotta keep diz place holy,” she said, addressing them all, giving the newbies a brief explanation for their specific, albeit slightly strict, housing arrangements.

“Now before I let y’all go put yur stuff away in yur rooms,” Perrie’s face turned emotionless and despotic, “I need ta tell y’all about da rules.”

Her eyes instantly turned to stone, the topaz gems looking sharply from one boy to another, making sure that each and every last one of them had given her their undivided attention – _especially_ Niall.

 _Wow_ , Louis thought after witnessing this grand phenomenon, which involved Perrie doing a few vociferous snaps in front of the blond’s blank besotted face. What the director had to say must be serious, if she needed to sober up the Mr. drunk-in-love.

“Y’all can view most of the stupid ones that I won’t give a whooha about like ‘no smoking’…” She causally side-glanced Bob Marley’s protégé, who only shrugged indifferently, unashamed of his love for Mary Jane. “…and all that jazz yourself on that a big ass sign ova there.” Pez pointed to a large poster above the lobby counter that spelled out VOLUNTEER RULES in faded ink. Under the bold font was several bullet points, which the roommates assumed to be your typical dormitory mandates.

Liam would be sure to read over the edict index tonight and regurgitate any guidelines to his pals that applied. Daddy dearest had to point his boys in the right direction. _Because it was his duty._ Coach had put him in charge while they were away in the U.S.A.

“How-eva,” her pitch dropped an ominous octave, the note of levity in her voice going flat, “There is _one_ commandment on da list that I care about.” Director Pez said, all jokes aside, excluding biblical allusions that she felt inclined by the church to mention. “And if not kept, there will be major consequences and wrathful repercussions.”

Zayn and Louis had to do their best not to crack up. They – contrasting solemn Liam and smitten Niall – could tell that Perrie’s speech was rehearsed and mocking.

“Around here,” she continued dramatically using contemptuous air quotes, “We call it da ' _unforgivable_ ' _sin_.” The footie players could already tell that she didn’t personally agree with this righteous decree, but nevertheless, they still grasped the severity of the crime if committed, since redemption wasn’t permitted.

“Which is: _do not_ ,” she stopped and then repeated her words twice as loud and three times as strict. “ _DO NOT_ , _under any circumstances_ , bring a homeless person inta yur room.”

Perrie’s stern aggression ended at the finish of her ruinous sentence, but her no-nonsense attitude remained when she requested Louis, Niall, Liam, and Zayn for complete comprehension.

“Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” they said in unison.

“Good. Now I know that it’s a dumb rule and probably pretty obvious – _like why would ya bring a bum inta yur room in da first place?_ ” Perrie asked rhetorically. “But bear with me, ‘cause its church ordas. And _Lord knows_ what Priest Simon would do if word got out that one of his volunteers was foolin’ around with da _helpless homeless_.”

Niall noted that Perrie’s sarcasm was thicker than her voluptuous thighs, and Louis had to hold in a laugh as she rolled her deriding eyes – _because same._ Louis was in one-hundred percent accordance. _Who would even fuck a hobo? And if they did, who cared?_

“If one of da staff catch ya sneakin’ one up here, or – God forbid – _fornicatin’_ with one of ‘em, not only will y’all be in deep shit _but so will I_ ,” Perrie stated humorlessly

 _Apparently, the Catholic Church did_ , Louis riposted his unspoken query.

 “Lemme put diz inta perspective for ya,” the director took her hands off her hips, using them to illustrate the inherent situation.

“Y’all are famous international athletes, while _I_ am just a New York shelt-a direct-a.” She emphasized the word ‘I,’ creating a clear distinction between herself and the boys, utilizing her pitch to verbally differentiate between their social standing in society; hers being ranked low, and theirs being ranked high.

“And ‘cause I’m yur boss, if y’all fuck up, _I_ have ta take responsibility for y’all’s actions – even if you’re ta blame.” She further explained. “I mean, y’all might get some backlash for dickin’ around instead of workin’, but eventually it’ll blow over. Whereas _I_ , on da other hand, could lose my position here. And y’all don’t even _know_ how many years it took me ta get it.” Pez paused to let that sink in.

Despite the fact that he felt like the "offense" of _having sex with the homeless_ was mild, even Lou’s unreligious ass knew that _that_ rumor could not be reconciled. For if the unholy union really did transpire, the gossip would spread throughout the congregation like hell fire. It could essentially destroy the whole church and their impeccable reputation for purity and charity, thus bringing down the whole amenity and its entire participancy.

Having acknowledged the motivation behind her concern, Louis finally understood why Perrie’s was so perturbed.

“Anyways my point is, is that if y’all break that rule, y’all will continua ta walk on water, while _I_ , on the other hand, will be beneath ya, drowning in it. So _please_ don’t fuck diz up for me.”

The woman’s words came out harsh, but the guys could hear an undertone of desperation and begging. Even though her face maintained a strong façade, her amethyst ringlets shook with unease and anxiety. They all guessed that – for whatever reason – it must have been a struggle for Perrie to land her exalted employment. Though Louis was surprised that the acquired job was in such demand, he still respected her devotion toward it and would do everything in his power to help her preserve it.

“We won’t,” Liam reassured confidently, speaking for himself as well as his teammates, his voice laced with promise and professionalism.

“Good,” Perrie replied, satisfied with their leader’s poised answer.

“Now go put yur shit away.” She shooed them off toward their rooms. “I’ve gotta tour ta give ya.”

…

Ten minutes later she called after the fatigued fellas, who were _still_ unpacking their rucksacks.

“Tick tock ya lazy jocks! I ain’t got all year.”

At the sound of her ono _clock_ opoeia, their feet began to race down the squeaky staircase.

The purple-haired mother laughed at the boys’ ridiculous obedience, however, she had to admit, that it was a great trait compared to her daughters’ promiscuous expedience.

 _Soph will love ‘em_ , she believed, smiling, thinking of her beautiful wife. But once the four appeared around the corner, she let out an envious sigh. _If only our girls were less defiant and more compliant like deez guys._

Pez shook her head to clear it of the longing thoughts and then carried on with her escort job.

“Now,” Perrie shouted, “Who’s ready for da most exciting escapade of their life?” Her fake enthusiasm was followed by four groans as they left the building behind.

~x~

After an hour of venturing in and out of the shelter’s two non-profit establishments (the hostel and the meal center) and exploring their essential rooms (the launderette and kitchen), followed by a brief description of their duties and the time sheet, the grand tour was _finally_ over.

 _Thank God_ , Louis thought. He was already exhausted from a long bloody plane ride and a five-fucking-hour jet lag, and _now_ – because of this long _unnecessary_ tour (actually it was very necessary but the blue-eyed boy will never admit it) – he was fucking _done_. Louis Tomlinson was ready to hit the hay. Or hell, if he didn’t get some tea soon, somebody better hit him with a bale of hay to wake him the fuck up. He wasn’t going to survive that much longer caffeine free.

Now that they had come full circle, the fantastic four were currently standing in front of their rundown dormitory, while Perrie was summarizing the most important points of information that she had given them. But all Louis heard was _blah blah blah_ as his head miraculously landed on LiLi’s muscly-yet-paradoxically-squishy shoulder. His eyelashes fanned prettily downward as he snuggled his cheek against his friend’s hard-pillowy flesh.

Liam being the great dad he was, automatically wrapped his arm around Louis, doing his best to maximize his baby boy’s comfort. Zayn, so in tune with his tiny nuclear family, did his designated part as mummy in Jay’s absence, and began petting Lou’s fluffy fringe, that glowed a soft golden color in the sunset, giving their devil child an angelic halo.

But Louis wouldn’t be able to catch any z’s for Perrie might have seen him starting to sleep. The next thing he knew there was a can of Red Bull being thrown toward his face. But it was okay because Louis’ reflexes were still ace even while in his zombie state. He caught it in his fist and then straight away began to sip it contents, absorbing its energy until the tin was empty. Soon after the energizer bunny was drumming at full speed in his head, chasing away the soporific fog so that Louis could pay attention to what their director was saying.

 “So ‘bout y’all’s work schedule.” She repeated rapidly, halting her feet in front of the four, who respectfully formed a staggered oval around the controller. “Just remember that from eight to twelve, y’all will be doin’ laundry in da hostel, and then from five to nine, y’all will be cookin’ in da cafeteria and servin’ dinna. Durin’ da hours in between, y’all can do whateva y’all like. Capisce?”

Once she was finished describing their daily responsibilities, Perrie raised a perfectly contoured eyebrow at her new recruits to check for understanding.

 “Capisce.” They echoed simultaneously.

Subsequent to her new employees’ agreement, the director retrieved her phone to check the time. After a quick glance, she pocketed the cellular device with a pensive grimace. “Since it’s a quarter past five we better head over to da soup kitchen,” Pez said and then began walking toward the cafeteria again, the footie players following in her foremost footsteps.

As Perrie, Louis, Zayn, Niall, and Liam approached the building’s entrance, they were greeted by a loud booming cry which resonated off the dining hall’s walls from inside, the offensive salutation was so sonorous that it could be heard audibly from the outside.

“THE RED COATS ARE COMING! _THE RED COATS ARE COMING!_ ”

The three British boys looked at each other totally bewildered.

Last time they checked, the Revolutionary War was long over. So why were they being addressed like the English were still a present threat?

The blond, on the other hand, was staring down at his chest very perplexed. He wasn’t wearing a scarlet jacket. He was sporting a green tee! What did this guy mean by _the red coats were coming_?

As the confused troopers marched through the open door, they were met with a tall burly man, who was most likely in his late fifties if the silver tint in his hair was anything to go by. As they stepped closer to him, the old timer flashed them an American manufactured grin. His teeth were perfectly straight, highlighted with a yellowing tinge that framed the aligned edges. Louis couldn’t decide if the smile was welcoming or just a fax expression of friendliness.

His body language, however, portrayed a different message altogether. The aged man’s big arms were crossed over his broad pecks, the skin that covered them bulging out against his chest, in a classic "tough guy" manner. Yet it was hard to take his macho stance seriously when he was wearing a thin fishnet cap over his salt-and-pepper hair coupled with a food-stained apron atop his faded navy jeans and collared shirt.

The four boys, however, did not let the innocent outfit fool them, for even though the senior volunteer appeared to be unintimidating, he was still their alleged adversary due to his bygone savagery.

Then a gorgeous woman with long coffee-colored hair, who was around the same age as Director Pez, stepped from beside the ill-mannered man, chiding him as she sauntered by.

“Oh hush up, Paul!”

The slanderous kitchen-help only smirked devilishly, which caused the pretty lady to release a hopeless breath. She rolled her hazel eyes and shook her head disapprovingly as she strode forward, her chestnut hair swishing gracefully from side to side not in the least bit bemused by the eldest employee’s rudeness.

The four new volunteers watched the strange interaction confusedly, all of them still not sure what to make of their senile co-worker, who was currently chuckling at the woman’s reaction. She was now actively ignoring his displeasing presence, her gaze transfixed on their supervisor next to them, her soft tourmaline eyes connecting with Perrie’s pearly blues.

Louis then realized that their shared look of fondness wasn’t platonic or remotely innocent. However, his blond brother didn’t make the connection as quick, causing him to almost lose his fucking _shit_.

Niall watched in the utmost horror as _this_ motherfucking _bitch_ , grabbed Pez around the hip, and saucily whispered “Hey,” while kissing her ruby red lips.

“I missed you, _Periwinkle_.” She said as she cutely – or _disgustingly_ in begrudging boy’s opinion – giggled, twirling her long pink nails in Pez’s lavender ponytail.

“Hey there Sophie,” Perrie greeted in the softest whisper, but then upon second thought added dotingly, “my _wifey_.”

The boss lady flashed a crooked smile at the blond callously, but he could only return it with a grimace, as he watched the lovers embrace happily.

Louis’ sadistic laughter rang in his head at the revelation that Perrie was a lesbian. Even Zayn’s usually unaffected ass couldn’t help but turn his head away and smile at his Irish mate’s comically uncharacteristic frown. Liam was the only one who took pity on the heartbroken boy, who was currently trying to contain his tears while he watched the women openly make out in front of them. Each provocative smack of their lips caused Niall to flinch, triggering Louis to reach borderline hysterics. It has always been funny to him when straight people accidentally crushed on homosexuals. Now those hets know exactly how it feels to be completely limerent with someone who will never be interested. That’s how Louis felt during his entire high school experience. Being the _only_ openly gay teen in the entire academic body, meant that his chances of finding a partner, who would express their feelings mutually, were the same as winning the fucking lottery.

Since it was Niall’s first time being subjected to this kind of rejection, Louis could tell that the despair was hitting him hard.

And it certainly was.

Upon realizing that all of his fantasies would never see reality, Niall’s face twisted in pain. Not being able to bear watching the scene, he turned away. But his cerulean eyes were still streaked with envy green. Not even his rapid blinking could wipe them clean.

Louis bit his lip. Seeing his friend on the brink of tears jerked him out of his pensive sadism.

All four boys watched in horror as Niall clutched his achy chest, and released several shaky breaths. His lungs were having a hard time functioning properly due to his shattered heart, the pieces piercing him with their broken shards.

Witnessing the bubbly boy’s moment of sadness, Louis and Zayn quit their malicious giggle fits, and Perrie let up on her affectionate display that was quickly turning into foreplay.

“Awe, distracting the teabag cadets with a sapphic burlesque? That’s quite the brilliant plan, director Pez!” The senior staff said, halting the exhibitionists’ sexual show. The three boys briefly wondered why he was insistent upon referring to them as British combatants. What had they done to initiate a crusade against the soup kitchen theocracy?

The assumed-to-be-pseudo warlord veteran began slowly walking in a circle around them, rubbing his hands together evilly, smiling like a crazy revolutionary. “We can get our revenge by besieging the little graffiti army. We’ll take these brats as prisoners of war, and lock them in the pantry.”

Suddenly it all made sense!

After hearing the word ‘graffiti,’ it clicked in their minds. This Paul guy was using military jargon for the sole purpose of orchestrating punitive retaliation. Like many die-hard U.S. soccer fans, he wanted justice for heinous caricature that his arch nemesis had painted. But the footie stars couldn’t tell if he was being serious about his promised reprisal or just pulling their leg. Shit became real, however, when the old sports supporter stopped behind Louis, whispering a warning in his ear.

“And if they try to resist, we’ll make their leader _America’s bitch!_ ”

Louis clinched his fists in anger, knowing all too well that the elderly dick was referring to the vandalizing script that he had been framed with. The innocent victim rolled his blustery blues, refusing to acknowledge the undeserved threat.

 _Fuck Grimshaw and his lying ass,_ the suspended captain cursed in this breath. _And fuck this ancient fart believing it!_

Before Louis could open his mouth and voice his opinions, his boss decided to come to the players’ defense.

“Ha-ha, how about ya get off yur high horse shut that trap of yurz, Revere,” Perrie said, letting go of Sophia’s waist. “There’s no need to go all warmonger on ‘em. They’re already gonna suffa enough puttin’ up with yur stupid ass for an entire month. And why are ya puttin’ so much effort inta announcin’ their arrival? They ain’t nothin’ special.” She remarked the last word fondly, winking in Niall’s direction. Then she spoke offhandedly in regard to the inappropriate nicknames that he had called them earlier. “And the blond’s Irish anyway, you dipshit,” she finished.

The archaic codger roared with laughter at their boss’s sarcastic humor, not minding in the slightest being addressed as a demeaning profanity as well as a historical celebrity.

Niall, on the other hand, was the one feeling like a dumbass at the moment. How had he not realized that his woman crush was into lassies? Having three very openly gay best friends, the blond’s gaydar was usually on point. He was going to have to ask the lads to give him some more pointers so that he would never have to experience unrequited love _ever again_.

“Fine. I sincerely apologize for not being politically correct. Let me rephrase.” Paul sorrowfully expressed, feigning great penitence. Then he repeated his hello with twice as much gusto.

“THE RED COATS AND THE _ALCOHOLIC_ ARE COM–”

_Slap._

“That’s _enough_ you racist bastard!” Their superior shouted, silencing their co-worker with the back of her hand. “Quit it before I can ya.” She chided darkly, threatening him with resignation.  

“You can’t fire me if I work here for free.” He taunted back.

 _Honestly, how much balls did this old tosser have?_ The foreigners wondered.

Before they could contemplate the inquiry, Paul responded with something that would probably get his sack severely butchered.

“If anything Sophia’s daddy will excommunicate you before me, pussyeater.”

All the boys shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to respond to the offensive term in this situation, debating if they should stand up for Perrie and her wife or let them handle Paul themselves.

However, the women didn’t need rescuing, because the vulgar American was apparently joking?

“Oh boys, it’s okay Pauly here isn’t homophobic – or racist for that matter.” Sophia guaranteed, patting him on the shoulder. “He’s just a big silly goofball, who has a very … uh …” She paused for a second, thinking of the right word, smiling kindly when it came to her, “ _unorthodox_ sense of humor.”

Louis, Zayn, Liam, and Niall all visibly relaxed after hearing her considerate clarification.

“So please don’t mind him.” She continued benevolently. “He means no harm right, big fella?”

Paul nodded in affirmation. But the next thing he said made them question him all over again.

“There are worse people than gays, gentlemen.”

“Like who?” Zayn quizzed, raising a challenging ebony eyebrow.

“Like _Donald Trump_ for Christ sakes!” He shouted. “There’s a _brainless idiot_ in office, who might start World War III over a rude tweet and you think that _I’m_ _worried about_ _homosexuals_?” Paul shook his head. “Honestly, you boys need to get your priorities straight. Well, you should at least try,” he suggested, uncrossing his arms to point at Ni. “There’s no hope for them.” He said, gesturing to the other three, poking fun at their sexuality. “Besides, the U.S. made it legal for them to marry anyway,” Paul nodded his hair-netted head in the direction of Sophie and Pez, who currently had their arms wrapped around each other. “So what’s the point in being anti?” He asked the boys rhetorically and then ogled the couple once more. “And why would I condemn something so hot?” He smirked. “It’s one of the perks of working here.”

Despite his crude comedy, the new employees found themselves chuckling softly at the end of the senior staff’s speech. After hearing the old timer talk, the boys came to the conclusion that he was harmless. His jesting was definitely unusual and unconventional, but there was no trace of legitimate contempt. So they might as well give him a chance.

“Get back to work you dirty old man!” Perrie barked, but it held no bite. Then she turned to her spouse, leaning in close. “Okay babe, I gotta show these kids the ropes, but we can continua where we left off late-a tonight.” The violet-maned lioness pawed her mate’s ass through her rose-colored dress.

Sophie’s bashful giggles did not last long before they were lewdly mocked by the Disney-loving cock, who stood next to her.

“I’m on it Agent P and Dr. Sophenshmirtz.” Paul said with a sardonic salute.

Upon seeing the flare of sapphire in her angry orbs in response to those offensive words, the boys were reminded of her threat to beat them black and blue if they dare associated her with _Phineas and Ferb_. Perrie went to slap her hand once more against the cartoon-alluding man, but he expertly dodged her assaulting mitt like Neo from the Matrix. Before she could try again, Paul made his grand escape, shouting, “Don’t forget to send me the sex tape!” as he ran away.

“Imma drown that son of a bitch in your father’s holy water,” Pez growled under her breath.

“Isn’t that called baptism?” Liam hesitantly amended.

Perrie rolled her eyes. “Same difference.”

Sophia laughed good-naturedly. “If anyone needs to spend time in confession with Daddy, it’s Paul alright.”

“No amount of Hail Marys can make up for all the sinnin’ that one’s done, and Simon sure as hell knows that.” The director shook her head disapprovingly, her tied-back lavender ringlets resembling a veil of wisteria rippling through the wind.

But the small grin that graced her ruby lips, let the boys know that there were no hard feelings, that she was only amused by Paul’s unprofessional absurdities.

As soon as the smile disappeared, Perrie was back to business. She grabbed her clipboard that hung from the nail on the wall. The white sheet attached to it listed all of the jobs that were taken, as well as the available spots that needed to be filled.

“Okay boys, come with me.” The newbies followed their purple-haired superior to the storage closet, where she gave them all cloth aprons and disposable gloves. “So which one of y’all is da best cook?”

The footie players pointed at Liam in unison. None of them could create anything good, but Li’s food was by far the most editable.

“Okay puppy boy, you’re on kitchen duty with Paul.” Perrie decided, and then upon second thought added, “and yur lova boy can help him chop shit or whateva with ya.” She handed them both hairnets and shooed them off in the direction of the kitchen.

Next, she singled out Niall. “You Blondie can go ova there and greet da homeless when they come in by givin’ ‘em a tray n’ silverware.” Pez pointed at a tall rectangular stack of plastic platters and a large bucket that held the eating utensils. Louis’ Irish brother nodded his head and walked over to his station located near the entrance.

After he went, she viewed her clipboard again. “And what’s left...” The lavender-haired lady mumbled aloud, her pedicured fingernail going down the lines searching for an empty slot. When she found one she looked up. “You, my dear, can pass out bread when it’s servin’ time.” Pez assigned softly, but then her voice turned sharp and serious.

“Now listen up, Louis. These homeless people can be pushy and grabby. But do not let ‘em put their hands in da contain-a – we don’t want ‘em contaminatin’ da food.” She spoke firmly, her instructional voice ringing with authority. “And just give ‘em _one_ piece of bread, don’t let ‘em pick. We gotta keep the line movin’ as quickly as possible. So ya gotta be tough with ‘em. Kay!? Can’t be feelin’ sorry for ‘em.”

“Okay. Sounds easy enough.” Lou replied casually. He didn’t know why she was acting so stern, the task seemed like a piece of cake.

“That’s the spirit!” She patted him on the back. “Servin’ starts at six p.m. sharp.” She told him and then peeked down to check her pink-banded Apple watch. “That’s in ten. Ya betta go wash up. Da sink is ova there.” His boss motioned to the right. “If ya have any otha questions, then just ask someone. Don’t be a strang-a, we’re all family here.” Perrie flashed him an encouraging smile before she left to go direct another volunteer.

Louis sighed.

After washing and drying his hands, he snapped on his mint-green latex gloves and took his place behind the counter. The apron-smocked blue-eyed boy glanced at the clock. It was finally time for him to do what he had been sent here to do.

Truth be told, Grimshaw should have been standing where he was right now, in a fucking _soup kitchen_ , about to serve _morsels of bread_ to dirty New York City _plebs_.

Louis should be in _his_ shoes – but not literally! He _hated_ Grimmers’ lame Nike sneaks because _the Tommo_ had class; he much preferred Adidas cleats. He should also be dressed in his silky jersey with the number 28 on the back, running across the long evergreen field, waving to his fans as he scored goal after goal, hearing nothing but the sexy swish of the net. _Awe what a sound_ , paired with the wild crowd.

Louis could envision it if he closed his eyes. He could even taste the Gatorade on the tip of his tongue and feel the nice cool air weave through his sweaty fringe and swirl in his lungs.

Being there at the stadium was the most amazing experience. _Absolutely_ nothing _compared._

 _Well except for seeing the girls on Christmas – but that was it!_ Louis thought as he reminisced.

The family man smiled, thinking of his mom and younger sisters. Everything in life aside from spending time with them fell short of playing his favorite sport. Liam, however, told him that was because he had never been in love before.

Louis decided to call bullshit until he found a boyfriend prove the testament.

His happy remembrance was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the door opening, signaling the inevitable approach of the ravenous vagrants. Their arrival triggered Louis’ rancorous memory to brood over the _Grim_ , who, without respite, haunted his mind.

Since he had stepped off the plane, the postponed player had kept his bitter thoughts at bay. But now, when it was finally time to face the music, the only hymn that Louis heard, came from the broken record inside his head, playing the same poignant lament over and over again. It was the same sad tune that he had remixed on the aircraft after it departed from London. And now he was whistling _That Should Be Me_ on the churchyard of broken dreams.

As he watched the blond shamrock pass out trays to hungry hobos with a smile on his face, Louis realized that he was being overdramatic as usual.

What else was new?

He released another sigh and quit his high-pitched rendition of Bieb’s angsty anthem.

Louis took a deep breath and picked up a white slice in his hand.

It was time bite the bullet and feed the fucking homeless.

~x~

An hour later, Louis was tired. It wasn’t that giving out pieces of bread was physically draining; he was just _drowsy_. The energy that the red bull had supplied was now exhausted. The footie star wouldn’t normally complain about standing for an hour straight, but jetlag was a bitch, and he just wanted – no _needed_ – to rest.

Louis had to restrain himself from rubbing his half-shut eyes that were probably rimmed with red. The sleepy boy made sure to halt his palm before he touched his face, not wanting to challenge his immune system with his germ covered glove and get himself sick. _Though contracting a cold might get him kicked out of the kitchen…_

Languid Louis also had to stop himself from plugging his button nose. It wasn’t that the soup kitchen quarters smelt bad, it was just that the homeless people, venturing in and out it, were a completely different story.

Louis noticed that the majority of them were dressed in clothes adorned with dirt and holes. The older men’s beards were uncut and matted, the fuzz on top of their heads, if there was any, was uncombed and saturated with sweat. The women, half the time, were braless and their hair was a freaking mess. Strands stuck up in every direction and knots festooned the center of their flaky scalps. The younger bums who were in their twenties and thirties, though, were a tiny bit better kept. Regardless of their age, each was due for a thorough washing. Truth be told, it would probably take a few showers to completely get rid of the horrible stench that was embedded into their greasy skin.

But their _hands_.

_Jesus Christ, their filthy hands were the bloody worst!_

Every single time a vagabond’s grimy fingers accidentally brushed his latex digits while reaching out for a slice of bread, it took _literally_ all of his strength _not_ to jump back in utter _repulsion_.

The sports prodigy didn’t consider himself a condescending snob, but when some of the beggars opened their decaying mouths to grunt out “thanks,” he couldn’t control his gag reflex after he got a whiff of their stinky breath, which reeked of rotten eggs and boiled cabbage. The scent was absolutely _horrendous_.

Sometimes when the smell became unbearable, Louis would breathe in the food’s delicious aroma to mask the repellent odor.

Luckily for him, there were a few exceptions _. Thank God_.

The soccer volunteer realized that not everyone in line was "homeless". There were some poor families and immigrant workers who simply came for a free meal.

The little ones that they sometimes brought with them were – so far – his favorite part of community service. Louis Tomlinson, the well-known kid lover, smiled at the young boys and girls and made funny faces at the fussy babies. When Perrie wasn’t looking, Lou slipped them some extra pieces of bread. Their parents would return grateful gestures as they moved on to the next server, who gave them a hardy helping of spaghetti and meatballs.

As the minutes ticked by, the lethargic lad’s long lashes began to flutter lower and lower. His thin lips releasing a yawn every other second. Louis wished that he could just lay his head on the soft pillowy looking loafs and take a short nap. Though the bums probably wouldn’t like the drool on their food.

When he saw the silhouette of the next guest approaching, Louis robotically picked up another white slice from the bin. His blue eyes briefly slipped closed as he held out the square loot in front of him. After a moment passed, he let go. As he retrieved another piece for the next hobo, Louis heard a flat _splat_ from the ground below, telling him that the portion of bread had not reached the person’s hand.

_Crap._

Before he could murmur a slumberous “sorry,” the bum in front of him released a deep apologetic squeak.

“Oops!”

Louis’ eyes snapped open, his ocean orbs climbed up from the shores of the tile floor like a tidal wave, as if they were summoned by the moon to witness something great:

_As soon as the sleepy server saw the boy before him, he wondered if he was fully awake._

_The pretty bum was too pretty to be real._

_Not only was Lou questioning the existence of the young man standing in his presence, but he swore he was also imagining his heartbeat speeding up, going faster and faster, its rate escalating the longer he dazed._

_The boy, who frankly looked more like an overgrown child than a young adult, had the body of a teenager and the face of an angel. His hairline was adorned with cute corkscrew curls and his ears were festooned by their chocolate puffs that resembled a pair of soft winter muffs._ _He had a frayed scarf wrapped around his pale neck, the warm fabric tucked into a purple sweater that hugged his broad chest. It had buttons down the middle and twin pockets on the bottom. The garment would have been quite fashionable, especially in England, but its royal color was worn and faded. The violet yarn that was probably foreign spun was now washed out by the brutal American sun. His lower half was dressed in stained trousers that hung loosely on his thin legs. The lad’s baby flamingo feet were in a pair of filthy white sneaks. Their laces were so soiled that even the strongest bleach wouldn’t wash them clean._

_Despite the rags covering his body, the boy’s face was rich in beauty._

_His irises were prettiest shade of green. The emerald rings resembled a lush field in the middle of spring. Gold specks sparkled like glitter around the black centers as if there were tiny dandelions blossoming behind his attractive eyes. His nose was straight and a little rounded at the base, the skin rosier than his pink cheeks, which housed an adorable dimple in each smiling crease._ And his lips _. God, his lips were simply luscious. They were the personification of Cupid’s bow, their petal-like complexion the same color as a crimson rose._

 _What he would give to kiss those soft_ succ _ulent lips…_

 _And then Louis felt_ it _._

It _wasn’t an electric spark that shocked his racing heart._

It _wasn’t the fluttering of butterfly wings in his empty tummy._

 _No_.

It _was a rough tug – that felt more like a hard wrench – pulling him in the direction of the penniless orphan._

 _Louis had not believed in love at first sight, but_ now _it was impossible to deny._

 _Because he had felt_ it _._

 _Louis couldn’t explain the feeling. The emotion was corporal yet mental and totally out of his control. The only way to describe the experience was by closing your eyes and imagining that the muscle in your chest worked similar to Jack Sparrow’s mysterious compass, which instead of pointing due North, guided you to the person that you wanted most. But the sensational tug was even stronger than_ that _._ _Louis’ body, mind, and soul felt as if there was a powerful magnetic pull anchoring him to the beautiful boy like a metaphorical rope._

Is this what true love feels like? _Louis wondered._ Will I be tethered to this handsome lad forever?

_But Louis didn’t care; the loveless lad would follow him to the ends of the earth. Just like the shipless pirate when he retrieved the Black Pearl._

The heart wants what the heart wants _, his subconscious knowingly taunts._

_The moonstruck idiot disregarded the potential consequences when he felt another relentless tug on his heartstrings. He prayed that he was worthy of love’s mercy before finally whispering a friendly greeting._

“Hi.”

Louis was startled out of his lucid dreaming when he heard an impatient grunt from behind the breathtaking bum.

The enamored man quickly sprang into action.

“Uh...sorry ‘bout that. Here you go, love,” he said grabbing another piece of bread and placing it in the kid’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” He replied kindly in a deep melodious voice that, if Louis was not mistaken, was spoken in a thick British cadence.

Before the blue-eyed server could whisper _your welcome_ and marvel over his accent _slash_ attractiveness, the green-eyed boy moved on to the next soup-kitchen stewardess, leaving the New York-bound player stunned, his heart beating like the wings of a free dove.

_Fuck._

Louis Tomlinson was hopelessly in love.

X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text in italics near the end did happen to an extent. Harry was there, but Louis in his sleepy state thought of all that lovey dovey crap. If you haven’t noticed, he thinks of Pirates of the Caribbean analogies when he’s dreaming.
> 
> Also, sorry for the rhyming. I can’t help it. I think I may have been a poet in a past life.


	4. 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Explicit language, Ziam fornication, lots of Nouis fun, and a classic Harry pun!

**_I’m covering my ears like a kid,_ **

“Are you fucking serious?”  _(Liam) *irritated/annoyed*_

**_When your words mean nothing, I go la la la,_ **

“This is unbelievable! I give up!”  _(Liam) *waves a white sheet in the air that he just pulled out of the washing machine*_

**_I’m turning up the volume when you speak,_ **

“I can’t leave him unattended for five bloody seconds before the Sandman works his magic on him  _once again_.”  _(Liam) *angrily shoves the laundry in the dryer that Zayn is snoring on*_

**_‘Cause if my heart can’t stop it,_ **

“I can’t keep up with the sly mother _fucker_.”  _(Liam) *furiously throws in five flowery-scented lint sheets into the circular bin*_

**_I find a way to block it, I go_ **

“But this is the  _last_  fucking time that arsehole puts my baby to sleep on Daddy’s watch.”  _(Liam) *slams the dryer door closed* **however it has absolutely no effect on the dark-haired coma-inhabited boy**_

**_Na na, la la la la la na na na na na_ **

“ _ZAYN JAVADD MALIK!!!_ ” _(Liam) *had once again transformed from puppy-faced boy into bitch almighty* **enraged with his boyfriend for acting flighty** ***since the shelter’s directorial appointees_ sure _wouldn’t take his inactivity lightly***_

**_La la na na, la la la la la na na na na na_ **

“WAKE THE  _FUCK_  UP!!!” Liam barked viciously at the sleeping beauty, successfully breaking the somnolent spell without even true love’s kiss – that’s how  _powerful_  his incredibly loud voice was. Honestly, who needs Prince Charming when you’ve got Liam?

The Bradford boy fell off the dryer, his ass making a  _bang! bang!_ into the room when it hit the floor.

“Bloody hell  _Li_!” The butt hurt lad said, while simultaneously rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and massaging his bruised bum – which was already wounded from the night before after the cocksluts had made the  _wreck_ less decision to break in their new bed, that they would be sharing for the remainder of the month.

Louis and Niall laughed hysterically at their injured mate like the sadistic freaks that they were. Unlike normal children, they took pleasure in seeing their angry parents squabble.

“I’m sorry  _Z_.” Liam apologized with faux remorse.

As a matter of fact, the diligent washer wasn’t sorry at all. He had purposely produced sound waves with his vehement voice, knowing that when the vigorous noise shook the laundry machine, the violent vibration would cause his lazy lover to rise to the occasion.

“But if you would just  _cooperate_ ,” Liam continued harshly. “I wouldn’t have to verbally emulate a massive earthquake to shake your  _incompetent_ ,  _lackadaisical_ ,  _cantankerous_  ass  _awake_!” The hard-working launderer shouted, his sharp tongue enunciating each word pointedly, but not enough to pierce Zayn’s apathetic heart.

“Yeah buddy, I’m  _shocked_  you woke up!” Louis said cracking up at his lame joke, causing the blond to pound the washer he was loading with his blanket-filled fits in mid hysterics. His older sibling was just too funny. He can’t!

Liam and Zayn both ignored their stupid kids, the tension still hot and heavy between them. Not even Lou’s horsing around could break their fiery ice.

“Whatever babe. You’re such a  _payne_  in the asre... literally.” Zayn said rolling his caramel eyes bitterly while he slowly got up, limping pathetically just to prove his point. He walked over to the radio to crank up the volume of Sam Smith in a  _failed_  attempt to drown out Nious’ obnoxious giggling with the repetitious  _lalala_ ’s. Damn those bastards to Hell. (Yes, he and Liam had them out of wedlock. Sue him.)

“Awe is  _Mr. Grumpy Pants_  upset that Daddy woke him up from his nappy-wappy?” Liam mocked his baby boy, making crying gestures with his hands over his eyes and quivering his pouty lips. The man was ruthless when it came to irritating his boyfriend with immature imitations.

“Don’t test me  _Mr. OCD_  or I might accidentally bite your dick off when I blow you tonight.” Zayn retorted back, provoking the horny-eyed masochist.

“Oh, really  _Naughty Boy_? In that case, Daddy will just have to...  _punish you_.” Liam smirked devilishly as he cornered his rebellious baby against the washing machine, placing his two hands on the ivory metal adjacent to his partner’s hips. There was no escaping the muscular palace; King Lima Bean had crowned Zee his beautiful Trap Queen.

“I’d like to see you try,” the pretty imprisoned prey whispered hotly in his proud predator’s ear, before his submissive surrender into the dominant’s saucy splendor.

Niall and Louis dropped to their knees and slapped their hands over their sky eyes just in time, saving themselves from witnessing the horrifying image of their parents sucking face. However, they could not avoid hearing their mum’s body being slammed roughly against the vibrating washer, nor from their dad’s palm beating dat ass to its rockin’ rhythm.

Nouis didn’t know who was more screwed, themselves or Ziam. They assumed themselves, though, because in about ten seconds Liam would behammering his nail right into Zayn’s prostate.

And by  _nail_  they actually meant  _dick_.

Fookin’ _hell_ they needed to act _quick!_

Louis put up an imaginary walkie-talkie to his ear. “LuckyTheLeprechaun is the coast clear? TommoTheHomo over.”

Niall, taking one for the team, not wanting to compromise the mission with his fear of spying on the kinky Ziam exhibitionists, bravely poked his artificially blond head out from behind the dryer to see if Liam had "nailed it" yet.  _And dammit_ , the tool had already whipped his dick out and was about .2 seconds away from drilling it right into Zayn’s quivering hole.

Niall almost vomited at the atrocious sight. You see, in his mind, it was one thing to be  _the one doing it_  in front of others, and it was a  _whoooooole_  other thing to be  _the one watching_. Niall just preferred the first option – with the exception of 5sauce and Serrie porn.

“Uh...  _No!_  CODE RED! I REPEAT:  _CODE RED!_  The birds and bees are _swarming._  We gotta make a run for it TommoTheHomo! It’s a fuckin’  _war zone_  out there! LuckyTheLeprechaun over and out.” Niall reported back into his fist terrified, trying his hardest to keep his shit together. He had to remain calm and professional if he wanted to get himself and Louis out of here alive.

“Noooo,” Zayn moaned from underneath Liam. “It’s a para-para- _paradise_ ,” he corrected, stuttering due to the bumpiness of the washing machine, or so Louis hoped.

Liam giggled – okay scratch that, it came out more like a manly mewl – in response to his baby boy’s banter, and then moaned in agreement. “It sure is,  _princess_.”

Both Niall and Louis looked at each other and then gulped in unison. They needed to leave soon before the  _pillow talk_  escalated into  _dirty talk_.

“Okay, on my count, we move on three.” The chestnut lad said after taking a deep breath.  _Lou_ tenant Tomlinson was determined to lead him and Lucky to safety.

“Oh, LEE- _YUM_.” Zayn screamed.

“One...” Louis held up a single finger.

“Right... _THERE._ ” He encouraged his Daddy.

“Two...” Lou couldn’t add a second finger fast enough.

“Harder!  _YAS_.” Zee demanded, then purred in pleasured praise.

“THREE!!!” Louis’ battle cry rang through the steamy sex-polluted atmosphere and then bounced off the washroom walls, its desperate sound resonating as both him and Niall ran faster than lightning out of the room and into another one at the opposite end of the hall, where they took shelter in the peaceful non-coitus haven, safe from the explosive sex, because according to Zayn, it was the  _bomb_.

“Fuck, that was a close one,” Louis said, catching his breath. His chest heaved up and down, the languid lungs trying – _embarrassingly hard_  he might add – to intake a parcel of air.

The struggle to breathe was too real –  _dangerously real_. Louis squeezed his eyes shut in slight alarm, the realization almost making him hysterical.  _Only one week after being suspended from the team and I’m already getting out of shape!_

The sweat drenched post-launderer cringed in disgust, thinking about the horrific state his Olympian body will take after a month of no decent exercise. For the sake of maintaining his fire arms and beefy calves, he was in urgent need of a gym to retain his fit physic. The footie lad couldn’t afford going back to the team only for Coach to sentence him an additional thirty-day leave of absence because he was incapable of running across the field without passing the fuck out.

 _Oh yes_ , he would most certainly find time to hit the treadmill. Doing some squats in a room full of hot sweaty muscular men might also increase the chance of his fat ass being penetrated by one of their huge veiny pricks.

That was such a brilliant idea! The added "physical activity" to his workout would mean that he wouldn’t have to train as hard or watch his diet as closely.

Everyoneknows that rough sex and rich orgasms are the best ways to burn constantly accumulating calories, that are caused by the consumption of addictive and  _oh so_  delicious American fast food. The unhealthy cuisine no doubt had the potential to plague Lou’s digestive tube. According to Doctor Oz, the U.S. eating epidemic was inevitable and incurable. But maybe the growing boy could avoid catching the corpulent contagion with his superb scheme. Perhaps it could also treat his severe cases of  _indolenza_  and  _blueballitis_  too.

Did Louis already mention that he was brilliant? This plan had so many pros! If this strategy worked, then hopefully it will transform him into a better player. He’ll finally be able to score a goal on Liam, steal a pass from Zayn, and head-butt the ball farther than Niall. And if Louis is fortunate enough, he’ll receive more action than Zaniam combined!

The competitive boy grinned, his heart no longer racing from his and Niall’s mad dash, but for an entirely different reason. It was going at the same pace as his wild imagination, envisioning the scenario to full fruition.

In four weeks’ time, he is going to be known as the world’s greatest _player_. He can already picture  _The New York Times_ _’_ outrageous headline reading:  **U.K. Footie Champ, Louis Tomlinson, is Getting** _**Fit**_ **while Getting _Dick_ , During His Stay in the U.S.A.**, the bold blue web address linking viewers to a scandalous article and an elicit video taken from the cameras in the gym’s locker roo–

 _Hey, wait a fucking minute_. Louis halted his post-ingenious thought process immediately, suddenly struck with a feeling of déjà vu – and not the good kind.

Okay so maybe hoeing around in a 24 Hour Fitness wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all. No who was he kidding? It was a bloody  _horrible_  idea! There was no way that it could work out.  _Haha!_ He giggled internally at his silly pun, but then quickly wiped the smirk off his face.  _Focus Louis! This is not the time for immature jokes, you git_. He scolded himself, reflecting on the flaws in his previously presumed impeccable plan.

Sometimes the football athlete forgot that he was a celebrity. He quite often neglected the fact that he was constantly being watched. And presently, he was subjected to a greater amount of publicized surveillance and criticism, consequential to the whole "incident." But Louis had learned his lesson. The famous baller could no longer afford to ignore his stardom; the reality that everything he did (or was staged doing) in the dark, was somehow revealed in the limelight.

The words his worried mother had whispered in his ear before his departure, echoed loudly in Louis' head, like a judicious warning.

_Don’t do anything stupid._

And he won’t.

Because  _under no circumstances_ – even if he was getting shower head or cleaning his filthy arse on somebody’s washboard abs – would Louis William Tomlinson allow history to repeat itself.

Coach would lose his absolute  _shit_  if his star player became even more defamed by obtaining a slutty reputation to coincide with his acquired "vandalizing inclinations." Louis could visualize the strict footie instructor’s reaction: his irate red face, the bloodshot whites of his blue eyes, the angry vermillion vein pulsating on his right temple, and the irked twitch of his sanguine lips, seconds away from reviling reproachful reprimands about the aspersions against his best forward. Nope, Louis could not disappoint Coach again. The man could not handle any more vilification regarding the team. Despite the pleasurable reward, Louis couldn’t risk being fired if he let his plan transpire.

_The last thing I need right now is a sex-tape to ruin my career, and give motherfucking Grimshaw the satisfaction of being my permanent replacement!_

“I know!” Niall exclaimed from beside him, breaking Louis from his cognitive egotistical gloating, that had nightmarishly turned into the first stages of a panic attack. Is this how karma worked?

Fuck, never mind that. He needed to get his shit together. Maybe these were the beginning signs PTSD that he had developed after experiencing the traumatizing events of WWZ. Who knew Grimshaw could be so triggering?

Before he could calm his overactive brain and just  _breathe_ , Louis heard dainty footsteps approaching. They were coming from outside the room that they had temporarily made their place of refuge, from the figurative fowl insects sent from the loins of hell. 

_Fuck, their mission wasn’t over._

“Shh!” Shushed  _Lou_ tenant Tomlinson in an attempt to silence the loud soldier next to him. He and Lucky quickly got back into character after hearing the sound of an unidentifiable person approaching. This intruder could be an enemy for all they knew.

Suddenly Sophia rounded the corner at the end of the hall and began making her way toward their hideout. Louis cursed under his breath. They were still in the danger zone. The boss-lady couldn’t know that he and Niall were here when they were supposed to be doing laundry. He would rather not explain why they couldn’t do their assigned job at the moment.

The blond trooper looked around desperately trying to see the potential threat his commander had so expertly spotted. But when he couldn’t, the paranoia got to him, making Lucky ramble like a blubbering idiot. He questioned his  _Lou_ tenant in a frenzied screech, his voice climbing higher and higher with each pressing question. “Are we outta the woods yet? Are we outta the woods yet? Are we outta the woods yet?  _Are we outta the woods?_ ”

“ _Jesus Christ._  No!” Louis hissed, pointing an authoritative finger at the opposer (code for Sophia).

“We’re not in the clear yet, soldier. Remain quiet and hold your position,” the  _Lou_ tenant ordered Lucky in a non-negotiable tone. Both brave men then sat still as statues as the director’s wife entered the room.

The mock-up two-manned militia had been so desperate to escape witnessing their parents attempt at procreation, that they had failed to investigate their surroundings. Louis and Niall’s safe haven was actually a homeless person’s sleeping sanctuary. The troops’ heavy breathing and pounding heart rates must have been quite loud. So loud that they hadn’t heard the soft snores coming from a bed on the other side of the previously-assumed vacant room.

Louis had to bite his tongue from muttering an apologetic  _my bad_ , as he and Niall silently watched Sophia draw closer to the sheet-entangled person. They laid on the bottom mattress of the bunk-bed resembling a mummy inside a sacred pyramidal alcove, totally dead to the world.

“Hey wakey-wakey,” Sophia said sweetly as if kindly summing the vagrant’s spirit back to its body. “It’s time to get up, sugarplum.”

The mop of untamable curls peeking out from atop the ivory blanket, turned away from view, revealing a slumber-softened baby face with pouty cheeks, plump pink lips, and a drool-stained chin.

The man-child could be Cupid for all Lou knew. He needed to start wearing bulletproof briefs just in case the little angel happened to make Louis his next target. He was afraid that the enamored arrows would pierce the voluminous flesh of his booty-ful bum.

No, wait, this boy wasn’t that nappy-swathed cherub babe.

 _It’s the lad I gave bread to yesterday!_  Louis remembered.

At first he had thought that the boy was a figment of his hallucinogenic imagination. But after Louis had spotted the bum a few tables away, the half-asleep volunteer realized that he was indeed _real_. Despite the fact that the _tugging sensation_ had waned, Louis would never forget serving that adorable dirt-covered face.

All it had taken was just one look into his emerald eyes, and Lou was a goner; head over cleats so to speak. Just one toothy smile, and his resolve to find the shabby stray disgusting was blown to smithereens. Just one touch, and the electric current he felt shocked him into an instant infatuation. To quote Bella Swan in his British jargon, Louis was  _unconditionally and irrevocably smitten with him_.

And now that the bread boy was six feet away from him, peacefully asleep, Louis could finally take his time to fully admire his pretty  _pretty_  face.

The honey-fringed eighteen-year-old watched, fascinated, as the sleeper’s cute nose twitched like an irritated bunny at the sound of Mrs. Smith’s friendly greeting. Louis had to refrain himself from cooing and reaching out to touch the chocolate swirls that tickled the transparent creamy skin above his coffee-colored lashes.

The cerulean eyes, however, always came back to the castaway’s delectable lips. They just looked so darn  _kissable_. And their favor had to be indescribable, Louis speculated. The captivated onlooker licked his own lips, imagining the mouthwatering vagabond tasting like a pastry from Cinnabon.

Louis’ sweet fantasy ended abruptly when those same lips pursed closed distastefully as if the straight white teeth inside had bitten a sour lemon. The citric acid seemed to spread throughout his soporific face. His brow furrowed deeply, and the skin covering his eyes squeezed tight.

Then the boy’s long cocooned body curled into a fetal position, resembling a turtle hiding in its shell, the over-grown child shielding himself from the ferocious monster that haunted his dreams.

“No. No! Nick. I don’t wanna– Please don’t make me–” He begged despairingly.

Louis, Niall, and Sophia watched in horror as the boy spasmed violently, pushing with all his might against an invisible force, and wrestling wildly with the sheets. The iron grip that he had on them turned his big hands whiter than the soft material. Before Louis could race to his side and wake the terrified teen up from his seizure-stricken state, the brunette-haired woman came to his rescue, shaking his stiff shoulders hard enough to end the belligerent nightmare.

The boy’s bright green eyes snapped open and darted back in forth around the room in frightened panic. Sophia rubbed her hands along the sides of his arms soothingly, until the anxious adolescent’s chest stopped heaving, and his breathing leveled out completely.

When he was still and tranquil, she greeted him happily, acting as if he had just experienced mild REM sleep instead of an incubus assault. “Hey, jitterbug. Sorry to startle you, but it’s time to get up!”

He looked around a little disoriented. But when he spotted Louis and Niall, his whole face turned into a tomato, the embarrassed blush even painting his neck a rosy red. He bashfully looked away, and then peered timidly at Sophia. The homeless young man responded to her in a quiet voice.

“Oh. Okay.”

Louis shivered at the low scratchy tone. The boy’s deep sleepy baritone was vocal sex, making goose bumps rise on every surface of his aroused body.

 _Fuck_. The shameful pink-cheeked blue-eyed military spy really needed to get out of here, before the dozed dude gave him more things to add to his ever-growing wank bank.

Those thick lips would look _obscene_ around his dick. 

 _Lou_ tenant Tomlinson and Lucky deciding to retreat, not wanting to humiliate the tired boy further by their presence, slowly got up and tip-toed toward the open door while the boy and Sophia were distracted with conversation.

“Breakfast will be served soon, so how about you go shower and–” in mid-speech, their boss saw a flash of blond quiff from out of the corner of her hazel vision, that caused her to stop talking and turn around. Sophia watched them sneakily inch their way out of the sleeping quarters, letting them believe for a fleeting moment that they were undetected.

Grinning wickedly, she asked obliviously, “Oh are you two here to pick up the laundry?”

“Oh, uh.” Niall stuttered at the sound of Sophia’s warm girly pitch.

Lucky, unsure of what to do now that they have been spotted, looked to his  _Lou_ tenant for instruction. Louis rolled his eyes at his soldier’s pathetic dependency, and then replied back fervently. “Yes! We are–”

“–at your service ma’am!” Niall said, finishing Louis’ sentence and giving their female commander a salute, his army façade resolute.

“Awe thank you, boys.” Sophia beamed at the two, thrilled with their eagerness to help. “Aren’t they lovely?” She asked the flushed sleepy-head who was still sitting on the bed, his flat chest bared, the blanket pooled in his lap. He nodded in agreement, his face turning even more scarlet when he caught Louis’ gaze.

“Now, move your cute little butt ova so they can come get these sheets n’ wash ‘em.” Sophia patted the lad’s leg. He began to scoot back, untangling the warm fabric from his limbs. She then lifted the covers to reveal the youngster’s naked lower half with the expectation of a pair of plaid boxers.

The sudden maneuver spooked the comatose kid into action, making him jump off the springy mattress, and grab the towel that Sophia had left on the nightstand. The boy wrapped the fuzzy cloth around his shoulders like a cape. Then he scurried past Louis and Niall out the room before they could even blink, giving Flash and Dash a run for their cash.

Louis watched the curly-headed boy zoom down the hallway toward the communal bathroom. But his amused smile at the childish antics jerked down in confusion when he saw a flicker of beautiful black cursive writing on the vagabond’s lower back, from beneath his absorbent superhero accessory.

The windswept man raised an arched eyebrow bemused, pondering if the British-born orphan had a tattoo.

“He’s adorable, isn’t he?” Sophia questioned affectionately, overturning his ink dwell. The kindhearted lady walked passed the two, laughing while she exited the room.

Louis and Niall chuckled in concurrence, then began working.

After Niall had stripped the bed and Louis had gathered the light quilt – smelling it much to the blond trooper’s astonishment – the Irish mercenary inquired aloud to his captain, interrupting him mid-sniff. “You think Mum and Dad are done?”

“Uh,” Louis paused, then covered up his strange behavior by fake sneezing into the blanket. “They should be.” He wiped his nose with the thin duvet keeping up the act.

 _Or is he just trying to get another whiff?_  The blond wondered.  _Gay men_ , he thought, shaking his head.  _What’s appealing about another fella’s funk?_  Niall will never understand.

Louis continued, ignorant to his friend’s olfactory judgment. “Ziam can’t hold out for less than five minutes. Let’s just hope they aren’t at it again.”

“There’s only one way to find out, TommoTheHomo,” Niall smirked at him.

“So what’re you waitin’ for LuckyTheLeprechaun?” Louis asked. “Lead the way!”

Both laughed as they retreated back to the washroom, soiled sheets held up defensively, prepared to shield themselves from angry birds and stinging bees.

But honestly, the soldiers could care less about a sexy assail. ‘Cause even if Ziam’s bump n’ grind persisted to prevail, they refused to comprise their mission; refused to bail. Lucky and Lou loved their respected roles, with all their hearts and zealous souls. _Squad Nouis was friendship goals._

~x~

Ten hours later, the four musketeers were in line with their plastic trays, waiting to be served the shelter’s complementary dinner. They were all starving after a long day of hard work – “extremely hard,” Niall had noted in Liam’s case, shivering at the obscene memory of his swollen stiffy, _the fucker_. And speaking of hard work – it was more like “effortless work,” Louis had snarked in regards to Zayn’s contribution, rolling his eyes at the recollection of the asshole just laying there and taking it, _the fuckee_. As anyone could see, neither Niall nor Louis liked cleaning comforters with the licentious loves very much.

“Yup, it fucking sucked,” they had grumbled in unison when describing their washing adventures to Paul over tonight’s provender prep for the poor. While the five of them had grated cheese, seasoned meat, chopped lettuce, diced onions, and sliced tomatoes, Liam and Zayn had tenaciously argued that Louis and Niall’s allegations were complete bullshit, claiming that their partake in such “unprofessional tomfoolery,” had _never_ happened.

However, the shrewd supervisor could not be deceived. The glassiness of Zayn’s amber eyes and rosiness of Liam’s chubby cheeks were the only clues he had needed to realize that the two boys were telling lies. So despite the dissent that had slipped past the cum junkies’ lips, the indulgent instructor believed Niall and Louis’ horrendous reminiscence to be valid veracity.

And of course, he had been correct.

If Paul possessed a bizarre quality, it was lecherous perspicacity.

**Ten hours earlier**

_Squad Nouis left their temporary base (a.k.a. Captain Curly’s sleeping quarters) and marched back to the beachhead (a.k.a. the currently-being-christened Laundromat). But prior to their impending arrival, the boys were ignorant of their advancement toward troubling waters, whose coital tide threatened a nasty demise._

_Upon their sudden besiege, Niall and Louis stared, appalled, at the detrimental spectacle._

_“Fuck,” They both hissed softly._

_“This is worse than we thought,” Niall stated ominously._

_“No. This is way worse. This is worse than the Spanish Armada,” Louis elaborated intelligently._

_“What?” The blond asked, tearing his eyes away from the frightening sight, to glance at the brunette in perplexed wonderment._

_“Didn’t you take History?” the older one asked._

_“Just ‘cause I was there, doesn’t mean I was awake,” the younger one sassed._

_“Whatever. Google it, you dipshit.” Lou snapped back, annoyed. Neil was such a dumbarse._

_Niall pulled out his_ _smart phone_ and Wik _ipedia-ed the historical event. Then gave Louis the "seriously" look._

 _“This,” he pointed at the dire situation in front of them, “is_ much _worse than a fleet of one-hundred-and-thirty warships, that carried about_ twenty-five _hundred guns, with crew of approximately eight thousand seamen and eighteen thousand soldiers, who sailed from Spain to invade England – and the_ big bad _flotilla, for your information, was defeated by the British Navy and gust of wind.” He took a much-needed breath, then continued to make his point. “No, if anything is worse than_ this _, my friend, it would be the Loch Ness Monster.”_

_“What the fuck is that?” Louis deadpanned, absolutely done with Niall’s disrespect._

_“And I’m the stupid one? Why don’t you take your own advice and look it up, you cunt.”_

_“Fine!” The fed-up boy rolled his eyes, then did as told. After he finished reading the ridiculous article, he glared at Niall._

_“Ha! This "mythical legend"” – he exclaimed using provoking air quotes – “has_ nothing _on that!” Louis countered while pointing at the porno before them. “No Niall, the_ only thing _worse than seeing Zayn’s bum be fucked by Liam’s prick, would be getting devoured by Moby Dick!!!”_

 _Niall took a second to research the fictional character on the internet, then laughed. “Yeah, buddy. I think Moby’s dick would be pretty over_ whale _ming.”_

_Louis’ fuming face broke into a toothy smile at the killer joke. “Yeah, that would be pretty gnarly.”_

_Their quiet giggles were suddenly interrupted by a loud monstrous moan._

_Louis and Niall scurried toward a drier located near the entrance of the room, and then crouched down low on the side of it, hiding where they could keep their enemy in sight, without being sighted themselves. It was the perfect location for a lookout._

_“Okay we need a plan of attack,” Naval Officer Lucky said to his_ Lou _tenant. Tommo was the mastermind behind all their impressive schemes._

_Louis’ blue orbs danced around the compromised chamber in search for something suitable, in which they could use in substitution of weapons._

_“There!” He whisper-shouted, his small finger raised and angled, guiding his partner-in-crime’s line of sight to a few bottles of fabric softener, that were placed on the shelf above them. “On my signal, we’ll pour it on them.”_

_“Brilliant!” Niall cheered. “There’s nothin’ like good ole fashioned prankin’ to make Daddy quit his spankin’.”_

_“Innit that the truth,” Louis said smirking._

_Louis, this time taking one for the team, peered out from behind the metal cuboid to check if the coast was clear._

_Across the room stood Liam, tall and glorious, on the tile shore in front of a sparkling-cyan Whirlpool appliance. A dirty sheet was wrapped around his muscular torso, concealing his nakedness, and a transparent circle could be seen between the gap of his legs, displaying soapy waves. The tawny makeshift toga and the power to program the manufactured sea, made him resemble Poseidon’s progeny. And Zayn, his nubile nymph, laid bare beneath him, his derrière at the mercy of the demigod. The naiad’s tan skin covered the cleansing machine like a starfish atop a stone. His arms held on tightly, bracing himself for Liam’s up_ cuming _tsunami._

_“Blimey!” Louis cried, ripping his eyes away before he could go blind._

_Niall gave his leader a moment of silence to recover._

_However, Lou knew that no amount of time could erase the_   _Grecian scene from his memory – where it would forever remain a sinful silhouette burning in his brain, like the eternal flame of the Pentathlon games._

Oh well _, Louis thought._ The mission must go on _. He could only hope that his great sacrifice will yield a great reward._

_“Ok, I’m good.” He said, and then got up, kicking Niall into action when he stalled. “C’mon slow poke, let’s go!”_

_The honey-fringed boy got up and gave the artificial blond two jugs of uncapped liquid soap. Then snagged some for himself._

_After they looked both ways,_ Lou _tenant Tomlinson and Plucky Lucky charged at their fucking foes._

_They ran full speed at their enemy, dumping four gallons of fabric softener all over their bodies. Their hot flesh now glistened with sticky sweat and sweet-smelling slime, in the laundry room’s fluorescent incandescence._

_The lovers screamed, completely surprised by the assault._

_Liam, in shock, slipped out of Zayn, and stumbled backward, his foot landing in an open box of powdery detergent. He accidently kicked it, sending it flying, causing the flour-like granules to diffuse in the atmosphere, creating a white cloud of soapy dust._

_Niall and Louis not knowing what to do, retreated back to their hideout, leaving Zayn and Liam lost in the chalky smoke of the Gain grenade._

_“Holy shit,” Niall said as he pressed his back against the drying machine, and sank down to the floor, his face whiter than a bleached sheet._

_“That didn’t go as planned,” Louis commented, stating the obvious, but not admitting defeat._

_“You can say that again.” Niall sighed. “What do we do now?”_

_“I dunno. Wait and see what happens?” Louis shrugged unsure._

_Suddenly, from out of the snowy mist came a laundry cart rushing right at them. Liam and Zayn stood in the metal basket, their bodies blanketed with blue goo and detergent molecules. They each clutched the above silver bar for balance with one hand and wrapped the other around their hard angry cocks, pumping furiously._

_Before Louis and Niall had time to even realize what was going on, Liam roared, his booming voice sending shockwaves down their shivering spins._

_“Aim . . . FIRE!!!”_

_The two Navy SEALs screamed as creamy cum sprayed their faces, the seed sousing them like water-guns. The liquid load landed in Louis’ mouth and splattered across Niall’s nose. The damsels’ pusses were totally submerged in sperm, the sexy assail soaking them past the point of recognition._

_“Oh, my god! TommoTheHomo we have been bombarded by_ semen _!”_

_“LuckyTheLeprechaun call for backup! We need help! S.O.S.!”_

_When no one came to their rescue, Louis and Niall suppressed their bile._

_“So… Do you lads give up?” Liam asked mockingly, and then stroked his spent dick, his thumb sliding over the slit, daring them to object._

_“YES!” They yelled in unison. “We surrender!”_

_The fornicators smirked, satisfied with their reply._

_“Well you know what they say,” Zayn said, simpering evilly, as he grabbed onto Niall’s arms, and Liam grabbed onto Louis’. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”_

_“Noooooooooooooooo.”_

_The triumphant victors dragged the vanquish squad, kicking and screaming, back toward the washing machines, where they all worked as a team to finish the laundry._

**Back to present time**

Even though that hour of labor, which Louis and Niall recounted to Paul (much to Liam and Zayn’s horror), was traumatic, the four set aside their vindictive desires, and completed their morning tasks without another sensual showdown. When all the blankets were folded and Ziam were scrubbed clean, the boys took a taxi to Walgreens. They used their money to replenish the supply of detergent and fabric softener that they had wasted. From there Liam, Niall, Louis, and Zayn left to recommence their friendship, at the local burger joint down the street.

Subsequent to their lunch in, the tired volunteers returned to their rooms, with stuffed bellies and restored camaraderie. They unpacked peacefully and then took relaxing naps. When their alarms alerted them that it was five P.M., the four boys woke up and headed toward the kitchen, where they helped cook the evening feast.

All in all, Louis counted his second day of service as a success. Though he hoped that tomorrow’s workload wouldn’t be as _cum_ bersome.

After receiving his food, Louis scanned the cafeteria, for an available table, where he and his mates could eat their supper. However, they were all taken, with the exception of one in the far back. It was occupied by a single lad, who was chowing down while watching telly on an old vintage screen.

Louis ambled over to the lonely boy, taking a deep calming breath with each step, striving to ease the nervous tingling in his tummy. Upon approach, he realized, with mild melancholy, that the youthful vagrant was dressed in the same clothes as the night before. But today, his skin was cleaner and the wild gyres of his hair glowed a tad glossier in the dim light, probably due to having bathed in shelter’s shower.

However, the cheap soap provided could not mask the sour smell of body odor, a stench that was known to torment teenagers, who lacked meticulous hygiene and scented deodorant. Sadly, this cutie was a victim of such rank realism. Louis may have gotten a whiff of his sleepy masculine perfume, but after the hottie had wandered around in the sun all day, perspiring in the humid heat, his natural fragrance had changed – and not for the better.

 _Poor lad_ , he bewailed, feeling bad. He hadn’t stood a chance against the fiery glut. _Rip_ , Louis lamented. _Another one bites the musk._

Louis took a moment to control the irritated twitch of his nose. And then, took an additional one to admire the stray’s pristine beauty, which in his biased opinion, was not soiled by his superficial shabbiness.

He cleared his throat to make his existence known, running a shaky hand through his fluffy fringe. Then he greeted the young vagrant in a high-pitched tone, crossing and uncrossing his tiny timid feet. “Uh... ‘Ello.”

The cute kitten looked away from the bright TV, and stared up at Louis, his green eyes big and curious.

Louis gave him a bashful smile and then inquired politely, his angelic rasp stuttering in the cutie-pie's presence, “Can my ma-ates and I sit h-here with y-you?”

The boy nodded, his cheeks blushing a pretty pink that Louis already loved so much.

He shook his head. It had only been two days – less than forty-eight hours – and he was already tripping over his words like a star-struck klutz.

He scratched his glasses off, which had embarrassingly fogged up due to his flushed face. _My cheeks must be bloody red_. Louis thought abashed. He cursed under his breath, now more mortified than ever. He tried to rub the stardust out of his eyes, then slipped the traitorous spectacles back on. Tomorrow he was _definitely_ wearing contacts.

Not trusting his flustered brain to behave, Louis chose to seat himself across from the homeless teen, assessing that sitting directly next to him would only intensify his touching temptations. However, after Louis sat his bum on the plastic pew, he realized this spot might be even worse. Because now, he was face to face with the curly-haired hobo. And _God_ , did Louis really really _really_ want to twirl his fingers through those molasses swirls.

 _Fuck_ , he needed help. These doting impulses that he felt were not normal. Well, at least not for a _complete stranger_.

Louis tore his eyes away from the cherubic countenance and super-glued them to the telly.

They sat in an awkward silence, barring Louis’ restless fidgeting and Curly’s slow methodical chewing.

Louis would try to converse with the attractive lad, but he cannot – for the life of him – think of anything to talk about. What do you say to a homeless teenager? _How were the streets today?_ Louis didn’t think so. He bit his lip, choosing to wait for his mates before safely perusing a conversation. 

After a few more minutes of charged tension, where the shy crushers glanced at one another every ten seconds, the postponed-footie players reached the table and sat down, blowing the electric fuse between the boy and Lou.

“Muuurgh.” Niall moaned ridiculously loud, sniffing the food on his tray like a hungry animal. On today’s menu was: two large tacos (it was Taco Tuesday), chips and salsa, and beans and rice. “This looks _so_ goooooood.” He declared, slicing the silence like a knife, which Louis was thankful for.

Once he was done inhaling the delicious aroma, Niall grinned, flashing his pearly whites, parading his excitement for the soon-to-be-devoured meal.

“God I’m _starving_ ,” He said holding his stomach in feigned pain. He was always overdramatic and hyperbolical when he was ravenous. “I’ve never been hungrier in meh life!” The Irish lied. (He said this almost every day. Therefore, no one exactly knew when he had felt or was currently feeling his most famished.)

“Jesus Nialler, you act like you haven’t eaten in years,” Liam said with a shake of his head.

“No Li, I haven’t eaten in centuries!” The blond singsonged in harmonious joy, his words mirroring the melody of FallOutBoy.

Liam rolled eyes, while Zayn took a bite.

“Mmm.” The raven-haired man hummed in approval, then swallowed his food. "This actually tastes pretty good." He observed, sounding pleasantly surprised.

“REALLY?” Niall probed eagerly, his eyes pouring into Zayn’s. He stared into the brown abysses; looked into the windows of his soul, trying to feel his mate’s taste buds on a spiritual level.

“Yeah...?” Zayn questioned, raising his eyebrows, freaked out by his friend’s gauche gawking.

The grub guru continued to gaze until the got a glimpse of Zayn's subconscious, sensing content in the ocher irises. _Oh_ _yes_ , Niall ruminated pensively, _these tacos are sure to satisfy; sure to give a natural high_.

“Uh…Can I help you?” Zayn asked, this time truly concerned.

Niall, pleased to have found key nourishment vibes in Z’s eyes, unlocked his cobalt orbs from Zayn’s copper ones, and then dug in. He shoved the stuffed crunchy shell into his mouth, ravishing the tasty taco with his tongue for all to see.

Tommo’s nose wrinkled in distaste, repulsed by Horan’s barbaric etiquette.

“You’re disgusting.” Louis jibed, his tone acidic.

“You’re disgusting.” Niall sighed, then mimicked.

His Irish accent parroted Louis’ British pitch, modulating from tuneful tenor to shrilly soprano, his flimsy hand flaunted in the air, flicking back in forth flamboyantly, and his stuck-out bum wiggled on the bench, sashaying in-place like a flirtatious fruitcake.

Louis stared at him, _furious_. His eyes were two flaming balls of rage, shooting icy daggers at the fake-arse blond, wanting nothing more than to kill him for making fun of his gayness – which contrary to popular belief – he _cannot_ control!

The angry boy clenched the speared utensil in his small fist, preparing to stab his offender with the fork, because obviously, Niall had a death wish. _No one mocks Louis Tomlinson and gets away with it._

Louis stopped his implacable pursuit when he heard blissful giggles. In slow motion, the angered avenger turned around to see where the sweet sound was coming from. His irritated eyes landed on the coy homeless boy, who was chortling in the palm of his oversized hand. Finding the dulcet laugh mollifying, Louis lowered his weaponized implement. He had to resist cooing, not wanting his friends to suspect any suspicious intentions.

Regardless of Louis’ subtlety, Liam still noticed his affectionate goggle. Putting a stop to it, he cleared his throat in a mediating manner. “What’s that red mark on your neck, Lou?” He asked, pointing to the spot in question. “It looks like you’ve been choked?”

“Your boyfriend,” Louis glared at Zayn, “basically strangled me to death when he pulled me away by my shirt from that pap yesterday.”

“I’m sorry for stopping you from committing first-degree murder and rotting in jail for the rest of your life!” The restrainer exclaimed defensively.

“Crazy mofos,” Niall mumbled while munching on a chip. “It looked like you were going to rip that lady’s head off.” The leprechaun said to Louis, remembering the vulgar encounter.

“I sure would’ve, if someone hadn’t intervened,” Louis grumbled spitefully under his breath. “Fookin’ twat.”

Then as if on queue, the ancient television a few feet away announced that there was a "breaking news story." All the boys turned towards the telly in rapt attention, as the news anchor began her objective divulgence.

_“The players from London’s Football Team, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik, and Niall Horan, who were caught graffitiing discriminatory political images and vandalizing the U.S. team’s equipment, arrived yesterday afternoon at around three o’clock in New York City. When the four sportsmen were leaving the airport, a persistent paparazzi–”_

"Speak of the devil." Louis hissed like a snake, voice laced with venomous hate.

_“–tried to provoke the well-known athletic star, Louis Tomlinson, into expressing his feelings about being disqualified from playing in the World Cup, and instead, being forced to come here and serve in one of our homeless shelters. Even though people are still angry about his controversial actions, many fans are not sure if he deserved this level of harsh ridicule from the reporter, which included: name mispronunciation, excessive taunting, and a very offensive homosexual innuendo. Take a look at the video and be the judge for yourself. Tweet us what you think @NYDailyNews…”_

The five of them watched a replay of the events from the day before. The recording broadcasted the reporter’s nasty taunting and Zayn’s steel grip on a deranged Louis. The perceptive lad had held him back, protecting the pap from his crazed wrath.

“God, I just wanted to beat that bitch’s ares!” Louis shouted, his fists clenched, glaring at woman’s wicked face.

“Yeah,” the boy across from him said, his deep melodious voice speaking for the first time. “It looks like you really wanted to punch her.” He observed. Then his cherry lips smirked jocosely. “Or should I say… _soccer_.”

He laughed hysterically at his own joke, while the four footie stars stared at him unamused, not game for his word play.

“G-Get i-it?!” The adolescent asked in between uproarious wheezes. “Sock her?! ‘Cause like you’re a footie player, but here in America they call it soccer!” He continued to laugh, one giant-sized hand holding his stomach, and the other covering his big mouth, trying – and failing miserably – to silence his bark-like noises, tears falling from his elated eyes.

Liam and Zayn face palmed. Niall chuckled politely. And Louis smiled, endeared that the boy found himself so hilarious, despite the fact that he wasn’t.

But since Louis didn’t want the poor ignorant soul to feel alone, so he laughed along with him.

“We get it, mate.” He said, acknowledging the joke kindly, his sunshine eyes radiating fond like a warm furnace.

Once again, Liam – not missing a beat – noticed Lou’s heart eyes. But he let it slide, deciding to confront him about the troubling matter another time.

When the boy without a home finally settled down, the five resumed chewing their Mexican food.

Once everyone was done, Liam announced, “We better go help clean up, lads,” nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen. The four friends rose and dumped their leftovers in the waste bin.

“It was nice chatting with ya,” Louis said in farewell to the handsome fella. Then he winked, and walked away, a winsome skip in his whimsical step.

~x~

“Hey, yeh guys up for a lad’s night out?” Niall asked, rinsing an enormous pot in warm sanitized water. The four boys were washing dishes in the back of the kitchen, while the remaining staff cleaned the cafeteria. “Paul says there’s this local club that’ll service us. As long as we got money, they won’t ask for I.D.!” He continued, delivering the last line in his most persuasive cadence.

“I dunno, Nialler.” Liam exhaled, exasperated, his lips pouting in apprehension. The man was currently scrubbing the big guacamole bowl, which, according to Niall, had held _“green gold.”_

“That’s illegal, and we’re already in deep shit.” The prude stated matter-of-factly. “I don’t think we should risk it…” He trailed off, his worried gaze fixated on the soapy porcelain. “And getting caught would ruin our image even more.” Liam reasoned wisely.

“Awe c’mon Li, _please!_ ” Niall begged, giving him puppy eyes. “Paul said it’s karaoke night! And _you know_ how much _I_ _love_ karaoke night.”

However, the big baby blues didn’t work on Liam.

“No Niall. My decision is final.”

The sad blond sighed. There wasn’t much he could do if Mr. Goody Two-Shoes disapproved.

“Lee- _yum_ ,” Zayn interjected sweetly. He was standing in front of a large storage cupboard, stocking decontaminated trays that had contained the impoverished plebs’ supper today. After putting down the plastic platter, he turned his body toward his boyfriend, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s just one night, babe. And would you rather Ni go alone? At least if we tag along, we can keep an eye on him.” He deduced rationally.

Louis quit his drying for a second to look at Liam, his towel hanging loosely in his limp hand. “C’mon dad. Mum’s right.” He said siding with Zayn. “And it’ll be fun!” He promised convincingly.

Louis thought it would be cool to check out the New York City bar scene. He was always up for a good drink, a good time, and a good fuck. _Please, please, please, let there to be some men there that are gay and single and ready to mingle_ , his discarded dick desperately prayed, not having penetrated an ass for days. At this point, he wouldn’t even mind bottoming. As long as he had sex somehow someway, Louis would be okay.

They all stared at Liam pleadingly. But the unyielding lad could not ignore the way Zayn remarkably implored. His lover’s honey-hued eyes bore his into him, melting his solid insides into amenable mush, eventually causing him to give in and give up.

“Ugh, fine!” The self-righteous man cried, morals totally abandoned. “But as soon as I say we’re leaving, _we are leaving_ , got it?”

“YES!” The three screamed in victory, then carried on cleaning, the atmosphere now buzzing with excitement for the brewing beer. On occasion, however, the festive ambiance was spiked with fear.

“Zaynie, can you wash the spa-spoons please?”

“Sure thing, baby.”

The designated dryer rolled his eyes. Why they put Liam, the _lad afraid of ladles_ , on dish duty, was beyond him.

~x~

Louis trudged alone out of the soup kitchen fifteen minutes later, claiming that he needed an early start back to his room: _“I need time Liam. It might be my lucky day. I gotta dress to impress, just in case I get laid.”_

To be totally honest that was an excuse to escape. Louis was going to scream if he had to towel another dripping tray! He wasn’t born to do chores; his permanently messy room back in Donny was proof of that. And besides, according to his mum, he shouldn’t even be allowed to step foot inside a kitchen, arguing that he would burn it to the ground.

Jay had prohibited him from entering theirs at home after he had tried to make Daisy a baked potato. However, it had all gone to hell when he had placed the foil-wrapped tuber in the microwave – instead of the oven – and it caught fire.

So maybe she had a point: he was a hazard when using kitchen appliances. But whatever, he could still make a mean cup of tea.

Regardless of the fact that Louis hadn’t demonstrated his terrible culinary skills yet (the cheese that he had grated for dinner wasn’t considered "cooking"), he still hoped that the staff would come to their senses and ban him anyway. If they gave the lazy bum the same treatment that Johanna had given her son, then Louis would be freed from post-meal cleaning.

 _Or, to quicken up the process, maybe I should just give them a reason to?_ Louis schemed brilliantly. _Maybe I should "accidently" cause another mini-conflagration?_

But nothing too big, he didn’t want to risk incinerating the entire place. Louis was afraid that if he purposely set something aflame – no matter how small the object – it would eventually flare up and flourish into an inferno, leaving him in _deep deep shit_.

He needed to plot another way that would minimize the danger and the damage of a real kitchen combustion. _Maybe I should fake a fire?_ Louis connived cunningly. _Yes, that just might work!_ He rubbed his hands deviously, his clever ruse making him smirk.

 _Damn Louis, back at it again with the bright plans._ He thought humorously as he was walked to the hotel-like dormitory. When he got the chance, he was going to consult Niall about the execution of his blazing banishment.

But as he frolicked gleefully across the path, images of smoking food filling his mind, a Swiss chocolate curl caught his blueberry eye.

The cute homeless boy, who Lou had eaten tacos with an hour ago, was standing in front of the hostel line. A heavily-pregnant woman with her young daughter were anxiously waiting behind.

As Louis trod past them, he overheard their conversation taking place at the door.

“Are you sure that’s the last one?” The gal asked, her voice rising higher and higher with panic as she continued to inquire. “Please you must have another one. I’m sorry I showed up late, but I tried to get here as fast as I could and –”

Louis peered, as nonchalantly as he could, over at the shelter entrance, trying to figure out what had this knocked-up lady in such a beseeching state.

“I’m very sorry ma’am, but he got the last vacant room,” Perrie said regretfully, interrupting her doubtful ramble. “Come again tomorrow, and hopefully we’ll have a spot for y’all.”

Even though the director maintained a professional façade, Louis could tell that her heart shattered into smaller and smaller pieces with each word that she uttered. Sophia stood beside her spouse supportively, but her expression illustrated pity, her hazel orbs watering with condolence at the damsel’s misfortune.

Tears of despair ran down the woman’s swollen cheeks, puffed up from an exhausting pregnancy, and her chapped sun-bitten lips trembled with dejection, her misery-stricken face displaying sadness and desolation.

Louis had to tear his eyes away, the scene too sorrowful.

Life just wasn’t fair sometimes.

Just when she was about to give up hope, a low voice spoke, like a rebellious rumble of thunder in a cloudless midnight sky.

“Here.”

Louis returned his gaze toward the entryway, recognition flooding his mind, harking back to the baritone that had jested not to long ago. He watched as Curly retraced his steps, his long legs striding back outside, leaving the hostel’s haven of heat behind. His green eyes gauged the family, looking from the soot-covered lass to her mother’s enlarged stomach, filled with her soon-to-be-birthed sibling.

“You can have my bed.” He said, and then softly stuffed his sleeping accessories in her boney barren arms.

Louis’ mouth dropped open in shock. _Did he just…?_

“Are you sure?” She questioned incredulously.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure.” He nodded, his dimples flashing as he smiled.

 _Freaking smiled._ Louis thought beguiled. He couldn’t believe this boy. This kind _kind_ boy, who had just given up his bloody shelter for the night. _We he even real?_

“Really. I’ll be fine.” The vagrant promised. “You obviously need it more than I do.”

“I-I can’t. I –” The lady stuttered speechless, stunned by his gracious generosity, his benevolent hospitality.

He placed one of his gentle bear paws on her giant belly. “Please. For your baby, yeah?”

Louis felt faint. He was in the presence of a saint.

She blushed, and then pulled the charitable lad in tight for an appreciative hug. She kissed his cheeks gratefully as she repeated gaily: “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

The tall boy laughed, his straight teeth grinning happily. “My pleasure, miss. Have a nice night.” He ruffled the skinny girl’s dirty curls, before walking away. Louis watched him go until he disappeared into the darkness.

 “Wow,” Sophia whispered in awe. “What a sweet boy.”

“Yeah, he really is.” Perrie agreed. “Nothin’ like El or Danielle.”

The two wives chuckled as they made their way inside, followed by the waddling woman and her teeny-weeny offspring.

Louis traveled back to his room, feeling lightheaded, woozy, and feverish. He didn’t actually have an illness, but he was most definitely love-sick.

Sophia had been right. _Wow_ wasn’t even a good enough word to describe the vagabond’s actions – more like _amazing_. Because what he had done was so surreal. Louis would have liked to think that if he was in the kid’s tattered shoes, that he would have been just as selfless. But honestly, he didn’t know if he could have been so philanthropic. He didn’t know if he could have sacrificed a warm comfy bed for the cold spartan streets.

 _Maybe that boy was an angel in disguise?_ Louis thought while looking up at the heavenly sky. But regardless of his nonexistent wings or inability to fly, Curly’s personality was more picturesque than a work of art. He had everything Louis wanted in a counterpart: a beautiful smile, a boisterous laugh, and a big loving heart.

X


End file.
